THE 


SAN    ROSARIO   RANCH 


BY 


MAUD     HOWE 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS 
1884 


Copyright, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


SEmdemtg  $«88: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 

j&teter, 
LAURA     E.     RICHARDS. 


M105426 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 


CHAPTER   I. 

w  Welcome  her,  all  things  youthful  and  sweet, 
Scatter  the  blossoms  under  her  feet !  " 

THE  house  was  a  large  square  building,  simple 
and  hospitable  in  appearance.  A  wide  ve 
randa  ran  about  the  four  sides,  heavily  draped 
by  climbing  roses  and  clematis.  There  were  in 
disputable  evidences  that  visitors  were  expected. 
Old  Tip,  the  dog,  knew  it  as  well  as  everybody 
else  about  the  house.  He  had  been  routed  out 
from  his  favorite  spot  on  the  sunny  side  of  the 
piazza  by  Ah  Lam,  who  had  given  him  a  shower- 
bath  of  water  and  soap-  suds,  because  he  did  not 
move  away  to  make  room  for  the  scrubbing- 
brush  which  the  white-clad  Celestial  plied  vigor 
ously.  From  earliest  morning  the  inhabitants 
of  the  simple  house  had  been  busied  in  making 
it  ready.  The  very  kittens  which  played  about 
the  steps  of  the  piazza  had  licked  an  extra  gloss 
upon  their  shining  coats  in  honor  of  the  expected 
guest.  Only  Tip,  the  old  hunting-dog,  the  spoiled 


6;l  SAN-ROSARIO  RANCH. 

child  of  the  household,  showed  no  interest  in  what 
was  going  on,  and  with  a  cynical  growl  trotted 
off  to  the  woods  behind  the  house,  where  he 
might  sleep  safe  from  all  fear  of  interruption. 

From  the  wide  doorway,  which  stood  hospi 
tably  open,  stepped  a  lady.  At  the  first  sight  of 
Barbara  Deering,  strangers  were  always  strongly 
impressed  with  the  indisputable  fact  that  she 
was  above  and  before  all  else  a  lady.  A  second 
look,  —  and  people  were  sure  to  take  one,  —  and 
it  appeared  that  she  was  a  young  lady  and  a 
beautiful  one.  She  was  tall,  above  the  height 
of  ordinary  women,  and  her  carriage  was  re 
markably  erect  and  commanding.  She  walked 
with  a  quick,  light  step  to  the  edge  of  the  piazza, 
and  raising  one  hand  to  shade  her  eyes  from 
the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  stood  looking  out 
across  the  wide  garden.  Her  figure  was  like 
that  of  a  Greek  Diana,  muscular  and  graceful, 
indicating  great  strength  and  endurance.  The 
limbs  were  rounded  but  not  languidly,  as  one 
saw  by  the  arm,  from  which  the  sleeve  had 
slipped  back  :  it  was  white,  firm,  and  hard.  Her 
hands  were  large  and  shapely,  the  tips  of  the 
fingers  red,  and  the  texture  of  the  skin  showed 
that  they  were  used  to  other  work  than  that  of 
the  broidery-frame.  Her  head,  with  its  crown 
of  pretty,  curling  flaxen  hair,  was  habitually  held 
rather  high,  and  her  face  wore  an  expression  in 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  7 

which  a  certain  natural  hauteur  and  imperious- 
ness  seemed  at  war  with  a  gentleness  which  was 
more  the  result  of  education  than  a  natural 
trait.  The  forehead  was  wide  and  unlined,  the- 
eyes  brown  and  clear,  the  nose  straight,  and  the 
mouth  small  and  rosy.  The  soft,  white  woollen 
gown,  with  its  breast-knot  of  red  roses,  suited  the 
young  woman  perfectly;  and  as  she  stood  in  the 
sunset  light,  a  spray  of  climbing  rose  hanging 
overhead  from  the  roof  of  the  piazza.,  she  made 
an  unconscious  picture  of  grace  and  loveliness. 

At  the  sound  of  a  wagon  on  the  driveway  a 
warm  flush  mantled  her  cheek  and  throat,  and 
stepping  to  the  door  of  the  house  she  called  out 
in  a  sweet,  high  voice,  "  Mamma,  mamma  !  they 
are  coming  !  " 

A  moment  later  and  a  large  open  vehicle  came 
into  sight,  drawn  by  two  swift  mules,  which 
were  urged  forward  by  the  driver,  a  young  man 
in  whose  face  the  traits  of  the  girl  on  the  piazza. 
were  reproduced,  but  somewhat  roughly.  On 
the  seat  behind  the  driver  was  seen  a  female 
figure  closely  enveloped  in  heavy  travelling 
wraps,  her  features  concealed  by  a  thick  veil. 
As  the  mules  stopped  before  the  entrance,  the 
young  woman  on  the  piazza  came  forward  with 
both  hands  outstretched,  saying  cordially  but 
half  shyly,  — 

"  Dear  Millicent,  welcome   to    San   Rosario ! 


8  SAN  BOSARIO  RANCH. 

Are  you  very,  very  tired  ?  Let  me  help  you 
out." 

So  saying,  Barbara  Deering  almost  lifted  the 
new  arrival  from  the  wagon,  and  with  her  strong 
arm  supported  her  to  a  chair. 

"  Thank  you  so  much  !  "  said  the  new-comer, 
speaking  with  a  slightly  foreign  accent,  and  lift 
ing  her  veil ;  "  and  you  are  Barbara  ?  I  know  you 
from  your  picture,  only  you  are  much  prettier." 

"  Poor  child,  you  must  be  terribly  tired  ;  you 
shall  come  and  speak  to  mamma,  and  then  you 
must  go  directly  to  your  room  and  lie  down. 
Hal,  you  will  go  down  for  Millicent's  luggage  ? " 

The  young  man  nodded  an  assent,  touched  up 
his  steeds,  and  the  wagon  disappeared  down  the 
red  dusty  road.  The  two  young  girls  entered 
the  house,  Barbara  leading  the  stranger  to  a 
large  room  on  the  upper  story.  In  a  low  chair 
sat  a  small  woman,  with  a  face  which  must  have 
once  been  beautiful,  and  which  now  shone  with 
an  expression  of  simple  sincerity  and  kindliness. 
She  held  out  her  hand  to  Millicent,  kissed  her 
on  both  cheeks,  and  warmly  bade  her  welcome 
to  San  Rosario.  Millicent  Almsford  acknowl 
edged  the  greeting  with  a  courteous  grace,  and 
immediately  after  accepted  Barbara's  offer  to 
show  her  to  her  room. 

When  the  door  was  shut  upon  her,  and  she 
was  for  the  first  time  in  many  days  alone,  she 


SAN  ROSAEIO   RANCH.  9 

seated  herself  at  the  window,  and  leaning  her 
head  upon  her  hand,  remained  wrapped  in 
thought.  She  had  travelled  from  the  coast  of 
the  Adriatic  Sea  to  the  shores  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  with  no  companion  save  her  maid  and 
her  own  painful  thoughts.  And  now  the  long 
journeying  was  at  an  end,  and  she  found  herself 
in  the  far  West,  in  California,  amidst  her  kin 
dred,  all  strangers  to  her  save  by  tradition  and 
some  slight  correspondence.  She  looked  about 
the  strange  room.  It  was  exquisitely  neat  and 
fresh,  with  its  clean  whitewashed  walls  and  new 
blue  Kidderminster  carpet,  its  black-walnut 
"bedroom  set,"  and  comfortable  lounge,  which 
had  been  newly  covered  in  her  honor.  On  the 
bureau  were  blue  and  white  mats  and  cushions, 
a  toilet-set  which  Barbara's  busy  fingers  had 
stolen  time  to  make. 

She  marked  all  these  little  details,  not  one  of 
which  escaped  her  eyes,  even  to  the  embroidered 
towel-rack  with  her  initials,  and  the  worked 
motto,  "  Welcome  home."  Again  she  looked  out 
from  the  window  over  a  wide  pleasant  orchard, 
filled  with  heavily  fruited  peach  and  plum  trees  ; 
over  a  garden  gay  with  bright-hued  flowers,  and 
beyond  to  the  everlasting  hills  which  close 
about  the  happy  valley  wherein  stands  the  house 
of  the  San  Rosario  Ranch.  Numbers  of  oxen 
and  cows  were  straying  over  the  hills,  with  here 


10  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

and  there  groups  of  sheep   cropping  the  sun- 
dried  grass  of  the  hills. 

The  landscape  was  a  perfect  symphony  in 
brown.  The  round  shiny  hills  were  golden  in 
color;  the  warm-hued  earth  in  the  ploughed  fields 
and  the  meadows,  whose  crop  of  grass  had  long 
'since  been  mowed,  was  of  a  deeper  tint.  The 
house  stood  in  an  oasis  of  green.  A  great  hedge 
of  rose-trees  blushing  with  red  blossoms  marked 
the  boundary  of  the  flower-garden,  irrigated  with 
great  care  through  the  long  summer  months. 
The  sun,  low-hanging  over  the  hilltops,  sud 
denly  dropped  from  sight;  and  as  the  room  grew 
dim,  Millicent  shivered  slightly,  and  turning 
from  the  window  threw  herself  on  the  couch 
and  lay  there  quite  still,  too  tired  even  to  weep 
out  the  pain  and  homesickness  in  her  heart. 
A  tap  on  the  door  was  followed  by  the  entrance 
of  one  of  her  trunks,  brought  in  by  two  strong 
Chinamen,  at  whose  coppery  faces  Millicent 
stared  curiously.  Six  large  boxes  were  placed 
in  a  row  and  unstrapped  by  the  younger  China 
man,  who,  when  he  had  completed  his  task, 
approached  the  stranger  land  said  in  a  sympa 
thetic  voice,  "  Me  solly  you  sick  ;  Ah  Lam  bring 
tea-cup  ? "  The  white  Celestial  smiled  benig- 
nantly  and  vanished,  quickly  reappearing  with 
the  promised  cup  of  tea,  which  proved  most 
grateful  to  the  girl's  tired  nerves.  The  crea- 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  II 

ture's  sympathy  and  attention  brought  tears  to 
her  eyes  ;  and  when  Barbara  came  in  a  few 
minutes  later,  to  help  her  in  unpacking,  she 
found  the  traces  of  these  tears  on  Millicent's 
cheeks. 

"  Do  not  try  to  dress  for  tea,  dear  ;  you  are  too 
tired.  Where  shall  I  find  your  dressing-case  ? 
You  must  let  me  take  the  place  of  your  maid, 
now  that  she  has  left  you  so  cruelly." 

So  talking  pleasantly,  Barbara  unpacked  the 
guest's  dressing-bag,  looked  admiringly  at  the 
silver-topped  bottles  with  "M.  A."  engraven  upon 
them,  the  ivory  brushes,  and  all  the  dainty  et  cet- 
eras  which  were  necessities  to  the  foreign  girl, 
with  the  long  white  hands  and  finger-nails  which 
shone  like  pale  pink  conch-pearls. 

"  Thank  you,  if  you  would  help  me  a  little  to 
night,  I  shall  quickly  learn  to  do  for  myself.  If 
you  will  look  in  that  largest  trunk,  you  may  give 
me  whatever  gown  lies  at  the  top." 

Barbara  unfolded  as  she  was  bid  a  sea-green 
cashmere  dress,  in  which  the  stranger  quickly 
clad  her  slender  figure.  Manifold  strings  of  tiny 
seed-pearls  she  wound  about  her  white  throat 
and  wrists,  performing  all  the  details  of  her  dress 
ing  with  a  careful  precision  which  seemed  part 
of  her  nature.  The  pink  nails  received  an  extra 
polish,  though  the  tea-bell  had  twice  summoned 
the  inmates  of  the  house  to  the  evening  repast. 


12  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

With  a  peculiarly  graceful  motion,  like  the  un 
dulation  of  a  swift  but  quiet  stream,  she  moved 
about  the  room  and  finally  down  the  stairway  to 
the  dining-room  below. 

"  Millicent,  will  you  sit  here,  on  my  right?  Hal 
shall  have  the  pleasure  of  occupying  the  place 
beside  you." 

The  speaker  was  the  lady  whose  gentle,  firm 
hand  swayed  the  small  realm  of  the  San  Rosario 
Ranch  during  the  long  absence  of  its  master, 
Mr.  Ralph  Almsford. 

Mr.  Almsford  had  been  a  widower  for  the  past 
ten  years.  On  the  death  of  his  beloved  wife, 
her  mother  Mrs.  Deering  had  continued  at  his 
earnest  request  to  make  his  house  her  home. 
Her  two  younger  children,  Barbara  and  Henry 
Deering,  remembered  no  other  home,  and  it 
seemed  but  natural  to  them  that  they  should 
continue  to  live  with  their  brother-in-law.  The 
family  life  was  a  particularly  happy  one,  and  the 
tie  between  Ralph  Almsford  and  the  Deerings 
was  closer  than  that  which  exists  between  many 
blood  relations. 

The  advent  of  the  young  heiress  Millicent 
Almsford,  the  half-lister  of  Ralph,  was  an  event 
of  great  importance  in  the  household,  and  had 
been  eagerly  anticipated  by  Mrs.  Deering  and 
her  daughter  for  several  weeks.  Henry  Deering 
—  or  as  he  was  always  called  Hal — displayed  an 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  13 

absolute  indifference  concerning  the  "  strange 
girl''  who  was  coming  to  make  her  home  among 
them  for  a  year.  What  Ralph  Almsford  felt 
about  his  guest  no  one  of  the  household  could 
divine.  He  was  a  quiet,  reticent  man,  entirely 
absorbed  in  his  business,  which  of  late  had  often 
taken  him  from  home  for  months  at  a  time.  He 
had  written  to  his  half-sister,  urging  her  to  visit 
the  ranch  ;  and  his  letter,  the  first  one  of  the  kind 
she  had  ever  received,  had  so  moved  the  girl  that 
she  had  telegraphed  her  departure,  and  forthwith 
started  on  her  long  journey. 

Her  brother  met  her  in  San  Francisco,  where 
they  passed  one  day  together,  —  a  business  en 
gagement  calling  him  away  on  the  morrow,  as  he 
hoped  for  a  few  days  only. 

Millicent  took  the  place  assigned  her  by  Mrs. 
Deering,  and  supper  was  enlivened  by  conversa 
tion  about  the  journey  she  had  just  achieved, 
which  she  described  as  the  most  terrible  ordeal 
that  it  was  possible  for  a  human  being  to  un 
dergo.  The  guest  was  entirely  at  her  ease, 
though  her  position  might  have  been  to  many 
people  an  embarrassing  one.  Arriving  alone  in 
a  household  of  near  connections,  who  were  as  yet 
absolute  strangers  to  her,  and  with  whom  it  had 
been  decided  that  the  next  year  of  her  life  should 
be  passed,  most  girls  in  her  place  would  have 
experienced  some  sensation  of  awkwardness ; 


14  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

but  Millicent  was  entirely  mistress  of  the  situa 
tion.  She  spoke  principally  to  Hal  Deering,  a 
jolly-looking  fellow  of  twenty-five,  who  puzzled  her 
with  the  bits  of  dialect,  perfectly  unintelligible  to 
her,  which  he  introduced  into  his  conversation. 

After  supper  Mrs.  Deering  led  the  way  into 
the  drawing-room,  saying  to  her  guest,  — 

"Will  you  join  us  at  prayers  in  the  library, 
Millicent  ?  Or  would  you  prefer  waiting  here 
for  us  ? " 

"  I  see  that  you  already  know  that  I  am  an  un 
orthodox  person,  Mrs.  Deering.  Frankly,  I  would 
prefer  not  coming,  if  you  will  allow  me.  Being 
an  agnostic,  I  should  hardly  be  in  sympathy 
with  your  service.  If  you  will  kindly  excuse  me, 
I  will  await  you  here." 

Millicent's  refusal  to  join  the  family  at  their 
devotions  was  accompanied  with  a  smile  so 
exquisite  and  winning  that  the  offence  was  for 
given,  although  forgiveness  had  not  been  asked. 
Hal,  the  great  six-foot  giant,  more  than  forgave 
the  graceful  girl  her  ungraciousness,  and  would 
have  a  thousand  times  preferred  remaining  with 
her  to  joining  his  mother  and  sister. 

On  being  left  to  herself,  Millicent  moved  to  the 
piano  which  stood  open  near  the  window,  and 
seating  herself  let  her  white  fingers  stray  gently 
over  the  keys.  Strange  hands  were  Millicent's, 
of  a  whiteness  that  made  her  pale  cheek  look 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  1 5 

brown  by  comparison.  The  ringers  were  long 
and  taper,  at  the  tip  of  each  a  drop  as  of  water 
ready  to  fall  from  the  pink  digits.  The  wrists 
were  round  and  very  slender.  On  the  fifth  fin 
ger  of  the  left  hand  she  wore  a  strange,  small 
old  ring  of  an  Etruscan  pattern,  which  had  been 
stripped  from  the  fleshless  hand  of  a  princess, 
whose  sanctuary  had  been  rifled  by  some  nine 
teenth-century  robber  of  graves.  The  setting  en 
closed  a  small  green  intaglio  exquisitely  carved, 
representing  a  Psyche  with  new-found  wings. 

She  had  a  strange,  white  luminous  face  whose 
beauty  shone  from  within  and  lit  the  dark  gray 
eyes  with  a  rare  and  tender  loveliness.  The 
large  mouth  was  more  exquisitely  refined  than 
the  mere  rosebud  tininess  of  Barbara  Deering's. 
The  teeth  were  very  white  and  perfect,  and  the 
veil  of  soft,  golden  bronze  hair,  in  which  she 
could  have  clothed  herself  like  Mary  in  the 
desert,  was  deftly  massed  into  a  great  dusky  knot 
at  the  nape  of  her  white  neck.  Her  arms  and 
bosom,  veiled  by  half  transparent  draperies,  were 
white  as  marble  from  Carrara,  and  as  finely  yet 
generously  chiselled  as  those  of  a  goddess  of 
Phidias.  She  was  very  tall,  though  her  grace 
of  movement  concealed  her  height;  her  small 
feet  in  their  velvet  sandals  were  not  dispropor 
tionate  to  her  size.  Her  features  were  beautiful, 
and  her  hair  and  eyes  the  delight  of  every  artist 


I6  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

who  looked  upon  her.  And  yet  that  which  made 
her  so  remarkable  among  women  had  nothing  to 
do  with  delicate  contours  or  harmonious  tints. 
Her  body  seemed  like  a  screen  through  which 
shone  a  flame,  at  times  white  and  gentle,  again 
rosy  and  passionate.  She  was  like  the  twin  opals 
which  clasped  her  girdle,  and  was  as  sensitive 
as  they  to  every  passing  influence. 

As  the  words  of  the  ritual,  grown  to  be  mean 
ingless  to  him  by  their  frequent  repetition,  fell 
upon  the  ears  of  Henry  Deering  he  heeded  them 
not,  and  failed  to  make  the  proper  responses  : 
other  sounds  had  struck  his  ear,  and  soft,  solemn 
strains  of  music  made  an  under  prayer  to  the 
evening  service.  To  these  strange  chords  his 
heart  made  answer,  and  his  thoughts  were  raised 
by  them  far  higher  than  was  usual  at  that  hour, 
when  it  was  their  wont  to  run  riot  over  the  busi 
ness  in  hand  for  the  next  day. 

As  the  family  re-entered  the  drawing-room, 
Millicent  remained  seated  at  the  piano,  now  strik 
ing  louder  chords,  and  finally  ending  the  long 
rhapsody  with  a  brilliant  waltz  of  Chopin. 

"Thank  you,  dear,"  said  Barbara,  as  Millicent 
left  the  piano ;  "  I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  musi 
cal.  I  find  very  little  sympathy  for  my  music  in 
the  family ;  we  will  have  great  pleasure  in  prac 
tising  together.  I  have  some  very  good  four-hand 
music." 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  I/ 

Soon  after,  the  newly  arrived  guest  bade  good 
night  to  the  family,  and  went  to  her  room  accom 
panied  by  Barbara. 

"  She  is  a  little  like  Ralph,"  said  Mrs.  Deering, 
"only  infinitely  handsomer.  How  did  she  please 
you,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Is  she  handsome  ?  I  hardly  noticed.  It  was 
her  voice  that  struck  me ;  it  has  the  sound  of 
laughing  waters.  And  can't  she  play,  though  !  I 
uever  heard  such  music  in  my  life." 

"  I  am  very  glad  for  Barbara's  sake  that  she  is 
musical,"  answered  his  mother. 

"Yes  ;  I  hope  that  Barbara  and  Miss  Almsford 
will  get  on  together.  But  I  have  my  doubts," 
said  Hal,  dubiously  pulling  his  straw-colored 
mustache. 

This  is  San  Rosario  to-day.  Shall  we  go  back 
a  hundred  years  ?  It  has  a  history  worth  a  word 
or  two.  To  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  beauti 
ful  country  which  lies  about  the  old  Mission  of 
San  Rosario,  it  is  not  a  little  strange  that  the 
place  has  as  yet  no  prominence  either  in  history 
or  literature.  Santa  Barbara  and  the  Mission 
Dolores  have  been  celebrated  in  prose  and  verse. 
San  Miguel  and  San  Fernando  Rey  are  not  for 
gotten  ;  while  San  Rafael  and  San  Francisco, 
now  grown  to  be  important  cities,  will  be  re 
membered  as  long  as  Plymouth  or  Manhattan. 


18  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

The  venerable  President  of  the  missions  of  Up 
per  California,  Father  Junipero  Serra,  founded 
the  San  Rosario  Mission  in  1784,  the  last  year 
of  his  life.  It  is  possible  that  the  judgment  of 
the  enthusiastic  priest  was  already  failing  when 
he  chose  this  site,  for  the  Mission  was  never 
prosperous,  and  was  abandoned  early  in  the 
present  century.  While  standing  among  the 
ruins  of  the  old  church,  it  is  not  difficult  to  see 
in  fancy  a  picturesque  scene  enacted  on  the 
spot  a  century  ago,  on  the  morning  of  the  con 
secration  of  the  Mission. 

The  little  band  of  priests  and  soldiers  have 
come  to  the  end  of  their  journey  ;  the  pleasant 
valley  set  in  sheltering  green  hills  has  been 
chosen  for  the  site  of  the  new  Mission.  The 
tall  thin  figure  of  Father  Junipero  first  strikes 
the  eye.  In  spite  of  his  great  age,  and  the 
mortal  disease  with  which  he  is  afflicted,  it  is  his 
hand  that  tugs  lustily  at  the  rope  which  swings 
the  great  bronze  bell,  hung  in  the  arms  of  a 
gigantic  redwood.  It  is  he  who  shouts  aloud 
the  summons,  "  Hear,  hear !  all  ye  Gentiles  ! 
come  to  the  holy  Church  !  "  Close  to  the  Presi 
dent  stand  two  priests,  —  one,  a  middle-aged  man 
with  a  head  which  indicates  great  power  and  a 
dogged  persistence  ;  the  other,  a  delicate  looking 
youth  with  the  face  of  an  enthusiast,  beautiful 
and  dreamy.  The  handful  of  soldiers  who  serve 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  19 

the  Fathers  as  an  escort  are  making  fast  the 
slight  church  tent  which  they  have  just  set 
up.  From  the  neighboring  thicket  the  cries  of 
the  startled  birds  mingle  with  the  earnest  tones 
of  Father  Junipero  and  the  deep  notes  of  the 
bronze  bell.  Hardly  less  timorous  than  the 
wood  creatures  are  the  Indians,  who  peer  cau 
tiously  from  behind  the  great  trees  at  the  strange 
spectacle  before  them.  They  are  invited  to 
draw  near,  and  the  bolder  ones  come  close  to 
the  black-robed  figures,  and  stare  curiously  at 
the  simple  ceremonials  with  which  the  ground 
is  consecrated  to  the  service  of  the  heavenly 
kingdom. 

Through  the  indefatigable  energy  of  the  Presi 
dent  and  the  two  priests,  the  few  buildings  of 
the  Mission  were  completed  within  a  year.  The 
adobe  church  was  unusually  large  and  well  built, 
as  one  can  see  to-day.  The  tower,  the  base  of 
which  is  strongly  fortified,  is  still  standing, 
though  the  roof  of  the  church  has  long  since 
fallen  to  the  earthen  floor.  Little  trace  now 
remains  ^of  the  less  important  buildings,  for  the 
Mission  was  abandoned  thirty  years  after  its 
establishment,  and  the  property  passed  into  the 
hands  of  its  present  owner,  Mr.  Ralph  Alms- 
ford,  some  fifteen  years  before  the  opening  of  our 
story. 

A  century  has  elapsed  since  that  day  when 


20  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

the  Fathers  planted  the  cross  amidst  the  stately 
aisles  of  madrone  trees  ;  the  Mission  is  now 
almost  forgotten,  but  the  San  Rosario  Ranch  is 
well  known  for  its  famous  breed  of  cattle,  and 
for  its  fine  dairy,  which  supplies  the  San  Fran 
cisco  market  with  choice  butter  and  cream. 

The  two  priests — he  of  the  hard-favored  coun 
tenance,  and  he  of  the  gentle  eyes  —  lie  side  by 
side  at  the  foot  of  the  crumbling  altar.  The 
Indians  who  were  reclaimed  by  them  from  bar 
barism  have  gone  to  their  happy  hunting-grounds, 
and  the  brilliant  future  prophesied  by  Father 
Junipero  is  proven  to  be  a  dream  and  nothing 
more. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  Look  to  yourselves,  ye  polished  gentlemen  ! 
No  city  airs  or  arts  pass  current  here. 
Your  rank  is  all  reversed  :  let  men  of  cloth 
Bow  to  the  stalwart  churls  in  overalls." 

MILLICENT  ALMSFORD  awoke  early  on  the 
morning  after  her  arrival.  "  What  is  the  mat 
ter  ? "  she  asked. 

No  one  answering  her  question,  she  put 
another. 

"  Why  do  we  not  go  on,  what  are  we  stopping 
for  ?  "  this  still  in  a  semi-somnolent  voice.  On 
opening  her  eyes  and  finding  that  she  was  not  in 
the  berth  of  the  palace  car,  where  she  had  for  a 
week  past  always  found  herself,  she  laughed 
outright  and  then  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

Her  long  journey,  from  the  Palazzo  Fortunio 
in  Venice  to  the  San  Rosario  Ranch  in  Califor 
nia,  was  at  an  end  ;  and  here  she  was,  to  use  her 
own  phrase,  "  planted  in  the  wilderness  for  a  year 
to  come." 

"  Heavens  !  how  can  I  bear  it  ?"  she  cried,  toss 
ing  restlessly  to  the  other  side  of  her  wide  bed  ; 
"  it  is  all  so  new,  so  raw,  so  crude,  so  terrible,  — 
just  like  this  cotton  sheet,  which  has  chafed  my 
chin  so  badly  that  I  would  rather  have  slept  with- 


22  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

Soon  a  loud  bell  broke  the  silence  of  the  morn 
ing.  Millicent  did  not  heed  it,  but  looked  about 
the  room  to  find  a  means  of  summoning  assist 
ance.  Happily  she  found  the  bell  quite  near  her, 
and,  after  twice  ringing,  a  tap  at  her  door  was 
heard.  In  answer  to  her  "  Come  in,"  Ah  Lam 
opened  the  door  cautiously. 

"  Missie  call  Ah  Lam  ?  " 

"  I  want  my  breakfast  now,"  said  Millicent, 
somewhat  dismayed  at  the  attendant  she  had 
summoned. 

Soon  Barbara  came,  carrying  the  breakfast  tray 
in  her  strong  arms. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  don't  feel  well  this  morn 
ing,  Millicent.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 

"  But  I  feel  perfectly  well.    Do  I  look  so  badly  ? " 

"  No,  dear ;  but  we  were  afraid,  not  seeing 
you  — 

"  Dear  Barbara,  you  must  excuse  my  strange 
foreign  habits.  You  know  I  have  been  only  a 
week  in  your  country.  I  did  not  realize  that  you 
all  came  downstairs  to  breakfast.  What  time 
is  it?" 

u  After  seven." 

"  And  you  have  been  up  since  —  ? " 

"  Since  six  o'clock  only.  Hal  is  the  early  riser. 
Half-past  four  sees  him  overlooking  the  milking." 

Millicent  shuddered ;  she  had  indeed  come  to  a 
strange  land. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  23 

"  I  will  try  to  learn  the  customs  of  your  coun 
try,"  she  said  rather  piteously,  taking  up  her  cup 
of  coffee. 

"  Only  learn  those  that  please  you,  dear.  As 
for  our  early  breakfast,  which  I  see  shocks  you, 
think  no  more  about  it.  I  will  gladly  bring  it 
up  to  you  every  day." 

"  I  shall  unpack  some  of  my  boxes  this  morn 
ing,  Barbara  ;  and  later  we  will  try  some  of  your 
duets,  if  you  like." 

The  unpacking  of  her  Penates  gave  Millicent 
a  certain  satisfaction,  which  was,  however,  tem 
pered  by  the  sad  recollections  they  brought  to 
her  mind,  of  her  own  apartment  with  its  three 
pretty  rooms  in  the  corner  of  the  great  Palazzo 
Fortunio. 

Millicent  Almsford  was  the  daughter  of  an 
American  gentleman  who  had  lived  in  Venice 
since  before  the  birth  of  his  daughter.  Here  the 
greater  portion  of  her  life  had  been  spent,  with 
the  interruption  only  of  one  long  visit  made  to  a 
relative  in  England. 

A  month  previous  to  the  opening  of  our  story 
her  father,  widowed  at  her  birth,  had  married  for 
the  third  time,  his  wife  being  a  young  and  un 
interesting  Italian  woman  of  the  middle  class. 
The  marriage,  to  which  Millicent  was  strongly 
opposed,  had  led  her  to  accept  the  invitation  of 
her  half-brother  to  make  him  an  extended  visit 
in  his  California  home. 


24  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

From  the  great  cases  she  lifted,  with  the  help 
of  Ah  Lam,  the  household  treasures  which  she 
had  been  unwilling  to  leave  behind,  in  the  home 
which  knew  her  as  its  mistress  no  longer.  A 
motley  collection  of  articles  had  the  great  trunks 
enclosed  :  pictures,  books,  a  large  Eastern  carpet, 
a  parchment  missal  of  the  fifteenth  century  with 
beautiful  illuminations,  a  guitar,  a  little  majolica 
shrine  with  a  figure  of  San  Antonio  very  much 
the  worse  for  the  journey,  a  set  of  delicately 
wrought  silken  window  and  bed  hangings  of  pale 
sea  color,  a  pair  of  heavy  silver  candelabra,  with 
a  ponderous  packet  of  wax  tapers,  and  innumer 
able  other  knick-knacks. 

With  the  willing  and  ingenious  assistance  of 
Ah  Lam,  this  robay  to  borrow  the  untranslatable 
Italian  phrase,  was  disposed  about  the  large  room. 
The  neat  Nottingham  lace  curtains,  at  which 
Millicent  had  looked  askance,  were  now  hidden 
beneath  the  blue-green  draperies,  embroidered 
by  the  hands  of  the  mother  whose  face  she  had 
never  seen.  The  pictures  were  hung  upon  the 
walls,  and  a  deep-hued  Egyptian  scarf  disguised 
the  pasteboard  motto,  with  its  friendly  welcome. 
A  book-case  was  improvised  by  the  Chinaman 
from  some  old  boxes,  and  covered  by  Millicent, 
who  unhesitatingly  cut  to  pieces  a  heavy  woollen 
gown  whose  color  struck  her  as  appropriate  to 
that  end.  Beside  the  bed  she  hung  the  little 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  2$ 

shrine  of  San  Antonio,  with  much  grief  that  the 
long  journey  had  damaged  his  saintly  toes  and 
fingers.  On  a  table  were  ranged  the  candle 
sticks  and  the  missal,  and  an  old  copy  of  Dante 
with  a  mouse-gnawed  cover,  and  Lear's  "  Non 
sense  Book," — this  last  because  it  was  an  old 
friend  from  childhood,  which  she,  being  a  crea 
ture  of  habit,  had  forgotten  to  discard. 

The  complete  metamorphosis  of  the  apartment 
was  a  work  of  several  days ;  and  only  when  it 
was  entirely  accomplished  were  Mrs.  Deering 
and  her  daughter  admitted  to  see  the  change. 
Poor  Barbara !  All  the  pains  and  trouble  she 
had  taken,  all  the  careful  stitches  she  had  set, 
were  unavailing.  The  new  carpet  she  had  bought 
with  her  own  pocket  money  was  entirely  covered 
by  old  rugs,  some  of  which  were  very  faded  and 
worn  ;  none  of  them  were  as  bright  and  clean  as 
the  Kidderminster. 

The  warm  knitted  afghan  had  disappeared  from 
the  bed,  which  was  covered  by  a  white  quilt  em 
broidered*  in  strange  floral  designs.  The  very 
toilet  set  had  been  replaced,  and  the  pretty 
painted  candles  had  been  banished. 

"  I  have  made  it  a  little  like  Venice,"  cried 
Millicent  excitedly,  "  only  the  walls  in  my  bed 
room  there  are  hung  in  silk  and  all  painted  in 
water-color,  and  the  rooms  are  so  high,  —  you 
remember  the  green  room  in  the  Palazzo  Fortu- 


26  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

nio,  Mrs.  Deering,  with  the  nymphs,  the  sea  gods, 
and  the  green  hobgoblins  painted  all  over  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Millicent.  What  a  change  you 
have  wrought  in  the  spare  bedroom.  Ralph 
would  hardly  recognize  it.  I  see  now  what  was 
contained  in  the  boxes  which  so  aroused  Hal's 
curiosity.  I  am  afraid  you  have  made  your  room 
too  attractive,  dear,  and  that  we  shall  find  dif 
ficulty  in  coaxing  you  out  of  it  into  our  more 
prosaic  apartments." 

"Oh,  I  always  live  the  greater  part  of  my 
life  between  my  own  four  walls  :  I  am  not  a  so 
ciable  person,  I  am  afraid.  At  least  so  Barbara 
thinks." 

Barbara  said  nothing ;  she  was  hurt  and  dis 
appointed.  The  room,  with  its  strange  furnish 
ing,  was  unnatural  to  her.  She  felt,  as  she  looked 
at  Millicent  with  this  new  setting  which  suited 
her  so  perfectly,  that  neither  in  the  room  nor  in 
the  life  of  Millicent  Almsford  was  there  a  place 
for  her.  She  had  eagerly  anticipated  the  advent 
of  this  unknown  girl,  sisterless  like  herself,  who 
should  grow  to  be  so  much  to  her,  and  in  whom 
she  should  find  the  sympathetic  friend  of  whom 
she  had  greatly  felt  the  need ;  and  now  that  she 
had  come,  Barbara  was  bitterly  disappointed. 
Millicent  was  gracious,  winning,  full  of  attractive 
qualities,  intellectually  sympathetic  to  a  degree 
which  she  had  never  before  known.  And  yet 


SAN  EOS  A  RIO  RANCH.  2/ 

the  tall  daughter  of  the  Ranch  was  cruelly  dis 
turbed. 

"  I  can  be  nothing  to  her ;  she  is  complete  with 
out  me,"  she  had  said  to  her  mother ;  and  herein 
lay  the  reason  for  all  her  disappointment.  Liv 
ing  among  people  to  whom  her  beauty,  her  talent, 
and  her  warmth  of  heart  had  been  the  most  po 
etic  features  of  their  lives,  Barbara  Deering  had 
grown  to  value  men  and  women  according  to  the 
amount  of  good  or  pleasure  she  could  impart  to 
them.  Her  life  had  been  one  wherein  the  tears 
and  sighs  had  been  stifled,  or  hidden  in  the  dark 
ness  of  her  chamber ;  the  laughter  and  smiles, 
the  bright  cheery  face,  the  helping  hand  always 
meeting  those  about  her.  Children  loved  her,  and 
old  people  blessed  her  for  her  sympathy  and 
kindness.  To  her  mother  and  brother  she  was 
sun,  moon,  and  stars ;  and  to  them  every  hour  of 
her  life  was  consecrated.  Naturally  endowed 
with  certain  tastes  which  would  have  somewhat 
interfered  with  the  quiet  plan  of  life  laid  out  for 
her,  she  had  systematically  neglected  these  gifts, 
sacrificing  herself  to  an  imaginary  duty  which 
was  always  before  her  eyes.  She  had  avoided 
such  pursuits  as  might  have  led  her  aside  from 
the  common  life  of  the  family ;  and  happiness  for 
her  was  found  in  the  happiness  she  could  afford 
to  others.  Enjoyment  to  her,  unless  her  dear 
ones  were  included  in  it,  was  something  like  a 


28  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

sin  ;  and  the  pleasure  she  took  in  her  music  gave 
her  pangs  of  conscience. 

One  morning,  about  a  week  after  her  arrival, 
Millicent  was  awakened  by  the  sharp  sound  of  a 
horse's  hoofs  clattering  down  the  stony  road 
which  led  to  the  orchard  from  the  hill  behind  the 
house.  She  sprang  up,  and  throwing  wide  the 
shutters,  looked  out  to  see  whence  the  sound 
came.  It  was  still  very  early.  The  sun  had  not 
yet  clambered  over  the  tops  of  the  high  hills  ;  but 
the  sky  was  bright,  and  the  shadows  lay  like  a 
misty  garment  over  the  happy  valley,  locked  in 
its  circle  of  hills.  The  great  bull  Jupiter,  the 
terror  of  the  Ranch,  stood  near  the  house,  sniff 
ing  the  cool  morning  air,  and  giving  thunderous 
snorts  of  pleasure.  The  bars  had  been  left  down, 
and  he  had  gained  access  to  the  green  orchard, 
forbidden  ground  to  him.  The  hedge  of  roses 
was  hung  with  a  wondrous  garlanding  of  dew- 
drops,  and  the  dark-red  lilies  were  just  awaken 
ing  to  the  draught  which  the  night  winds  had 
distilled  in  their  chalices.  From  every  blade 
of  grass  and  leaf  of  clover  sparkled  a  diamond. 
The  fair  valley  had  arrayed  itself  in  jewels  and 
fragance  for  another  day  of  light  and  love. 

The  sound  of  the  horse's  hoofs  grew  nearer ; 
and  as  Millicent  looked  expectantly  along  the 
bridle-path  that  descends  from  the  mountain, 
there  came  into  sight,  parting  the  wet  boughs  of 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  29 

the  fruit  trees,  a  horseman  mounted  on  a  gray 
mustang.  The  rider  was  a  strong  man,  who  sat 
his  steed  with  the  air  of  one  to  the  manner  born. 
He  was  dressed  in  corduroy  breeches,  high  top- 
boots,  and  flannel  shirt.  He  had  no  hat.  In  his 
belt  shone  a  long  hunting  knife,  and  over  his 
shoulder  was  slung  a  rifle.  Before  him  on  the 
saddle  lay  a  stag  whose  heavy  antlers  hardly 
cleared  the  ground. 

The  first  rays  of  the  sun,  just  peeping  over 
the  hill-tops,  touched  his  thick  brown  hair,  giving 
it  a  glint  of  bronze,  shone  on  the  wide  white  fore 
head,  flashed  into  the  eyes,  and  showed  her  for 
an  instant  a  stern  profile,  exceedingly  beautiful. 
Then  she  lost  his  face  as  he  turned  the  corner 
of  the  piazza.  Here  he  dismounted,  and  lifting 
the  deer  from  the  horse  laid  it  on  the  grass. 
Perhaps  the  beauty  of  the  dead  creature  struck 
a  chord  of  remorse  in  the  breast  of  the  hunter, 
for  he  gave  a  sigh  and  turned  it  so  that  a  gaping 
wound  in  the  neck  was  not  visible.  Then  draw 
ing  a  pencil  and  a  bit  of  paper  from  his  pocket, 
he  wrote  something,  and  fastening  the  billet  to 
the  horns  of  the  deer,  he  mounted  his  horse,  and 
giving  him  the  rein  returned  slowly  by  the  same 
road.  As  he  drew  near  again  Millicent  saw  that 
the  mustache  which  hid  the  upper  lip  was  golden- 
brown,  that  the  throat  was  white  and  shapely, 
that  the  mouth  smiled  not  untenderly,  while  the 


30  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

eyes  smiled  not  at  all.  These  details  were  noted 
with  an  artist's  love  of  beauty :  and  as  she 
watched  him  out  of  sight,  she  wondered  with  all 
a  woman's  curiosity  who  he  might  be. 

Since  Millicent's  arrival  there  had  been  many 
visitors  at  the  Ranch.  All  the  friends  of  the 
Deering  family  who  were  within  calling  distance 
had  either  come  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
Miss  Almsford,  or  had  signified  their  intention 
of  shortly  doing  so. 

Calling  distance  in  California  may  be  said  to 
extend  not  over  fifty  miles.  The  neighbor  who 
lives  half  a  hundred  miles  from  you  will  make 
a  call,  or  in  other  words  will  come  to  pass  the  day. 
Calling  terms  cease  beyond  these  limits,  and  visits 
of  not  less  than  twenty-four  hours  are  exchanged. 

In  none  of  the  people  whom  she  had  met  had 
Millicent  felt  or  manifested  the  least  interest. 
She  had  received  them  graciously,  but  with  a 
cordiality  of  manner  only.  Not  one  man  or  wo 
man  among  the  circle  of  friends  who  were  on 
familiar  terms  at  the  Ranch  awoke  in  her  a  de 
sire  for  further  acquaintance.  But  this  one  who 
had  called  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  had 
left  his  visiting  card  pinned  to  the  antlers  of  a 
stag,  piqued  the  curiosity  of  the  indifferent  young 
lady.  Wrapping  herself  in  a  soft  gray  woollen 
dressing-gown,  she  ran  downstairs  in  the  liveliest 
manner. 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  31 

It  was  a  splendid  animal,  fine  as  the  buck 
described  by  Browning  in  "  Donald."  Alas,  the 
slender  legs  would  carry  his  noble  body  and 
stately  head  no  further  ;  the  branching  horns 
would  never  again  clash  against  the  antlers  of  a 
rival.  Millicent  touched  the  beautiful  dead 
creature  tenderly  between  the  horns,  and  tried 
to  close  the  dim  eyes.  At  that  moment  she 
heard  a  step  upon  the  piazza,  and  Hal  Deering 
joined  her. 

"  Why,  Miss  Almsford,  what  does  this  mean  ? 
You  to  be  up  and  dressed  "  —  he  hesitated, 
"well,  yes,  you  are  dressed,  and  very  becomingly 
too  ;  I  like  that  loose  gown  —  at  six  in  the 
morning !  sighing  over  the  fine  piece  of  venison, 
and  performing  the  last  kind  offices  of  friendship 
too.  Don't  believe  you  would  do  as  much  for 
me." 

The  young  man  looked  at  the  deer  approv 
ingly,  and  perceiving  the  note,  took  it  from  the 
antler  and  deliberately  read  it  aloud  :  — 

HONORED  MISTRESS  DEERING,  —  I  lay  myself 
at  your  feet,  and  with  myself  a  pretty  bit  of  game 
I  have  just  killed,  thinking  that  the  fair  Venetian 
might  fancy  a  venison  steak  for  her  breakfast. 
I  kiss  your  hand,  dear  my  lady,  and  am  your 
most  unworthy  but  loyal  servitor, 

JOHN  GRAHAM. 


32  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  Of  course,  knew  it  was  Graham,  queer  crea 
ture.  Wonder  why  he  did  not  stop  and  take 
breakfast  with  us.  He  is  an  unaccountable 
fellow." 

"  What  did  you  call  him  ?  " 

"  Graham  ;  his  full  name  is  John  Douglass 
Graham.  Just  like  a  hero's  in  a  novel.  But 
Graham  never  does  anything  very  heroic,  I 
fancy." 

"  Shall  you  cut  off  his  skin  ?" 

"  Whose  ?     Graham's  ?  " 

"  How  foolish,  Mr.  Deering.  I  mean  the 
deer's  fur." 

"  Oh  no,  certainly  not ;  in  America  we  always 
serve  game  with  the  hide  or  feathers.  In  fact, 
we  usually  do  not  remove  the  wool  from  our 
mutton  ;  but  knowing  that  you  were  accustomed 
to  seeing  it  dressed  after  the  super-civilized 
fashion  of  the  Venetians,  I  have  — 

"  Mr.  Deering,  that  is  stupid.  I  want  his  skin 
and  horns  ;  please  arrange  them  for  me." 

"  Yes,  Princess ;  your  most  humble  servant 
will  obey  your  mandate." 

He  seized  the  creature  by  its  slender  legs, 
hoisted  it  deftly  to  his  shoulders,  and  disap 
peared  through  the  side  door.  Millicent  picked 
up  the  bit  of  a  note,  smoothed  it,  and  laid  it 
at  Mrs.  Deering's  plate  on  the  breakfast  table. 

Millicent  asked   Barbara  later  on  in  the  day 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  33 

who  and  what  John  Graham  might  be.  She  was 
told  that  the  man  with  the  bronze  hair  and 
strange  eyes  was  a  near  neighbor,  and  that  she 
would  without  doubt  soon  make  his  acquaintance. 

With  this  answer  Millicent  was  fain  to  be  con 
tent.  She  thought  about  him  all  that  day  and 
dreamed  of  him  that  night ;  the  next  morning 
his  face  was  not  so  distinctly  in  her  mind,  but 
her  thoughts  were  constantly  busy  with  weaving 
romances  in  which  John  Graham  played  a  con 
spicuous  part.  The  girl  was  indeed  a  creature 
"  of  the  stuff  which  dreams  are  made  of ; "  the 
web  of  her  daily  life,  no  matter  how  common 
place  its  actual  experience  might  be,  was  rich 
with  her  own  vivid  imaginings,  like  the  gold 
thread  that  a  weaver  twists  through  a  sad-colored 
fabric. 

"  Mr.  Deering,  take  me  to  the  dairy.  I  have 
not  yet  seen  it,"  said  Millicent  one  afternoon,  as 
they  all  sat  together  on  the  wide  piazza  after 
the  early  dinner.  The  young  man  rose  slowly, 
his  great  length  unfolding  itself  as  he  left  his 
chair  ;  and  for  answer  put  down  his  pipe  and 
reached  up  for  Millicent's  hat,  which  he  had 
hung  on  a  peg  high  above  her  reach.  The  two 
young  people  passed  down  the  gravel  walk  be 
tween  the  broad  flower  beds  fragrant  with  the 
wonderful  roses  which  grow  only  upon  the  shores 
of  the  Pacific.  A  geranium  tree  twelve  feet 

3 


34  SAN  ROSAPJO  RANCH. 

high,  with  its  great  scarlet  bunches,  and  the  vine 
of  Marechal  roses  which  climbed  up  the  piazza 
and  tapped  with  its  heavy  blossoms  at  her  case 
ment,  aroused  Millicent's  enthusiasm. 

The  dairy,  Hal  told  her,  was  fully  thirty  years 
old.  But  her  own  palace  had  frowned  grim  and 
black  upon  the  Grand  Canal  before  the  passen 
gers  on  the  good  ship  "Mayflower"  had  landed  in 
Plymouth.  The  dairy  was  a  plain,  neat  frame- 
building  painted  white,  looking  out  upon  a  great 
farm-yard.  Here  the  pretty  cows  all  stood 
crowded  together,  waiting  their  turn  to  offer  up 
their  evening  tribute.  Two  black-browed  Mexi 
cans  were  milking,  and  a  tall  Yankee  was  over 
seeing  the  straining  of  the  milk.  He  stood  by 
a  large  trough  and  received  the  brimming  buck 
ets  from  the  milkers,  pouring  their  contents 
through  a  strainer  into  the  great  receptacle.  In 
the  midst  of  the  herd  lay  Jupiter,  the  splendid 
bull,  lazily  chewing  his  cud  and  switching  away 
the  sand  flies  with  his  thick  black  tail. 

In  a  cool  inner  room  were  long  shelves  ranged 
about  the  brick  walls,  whereon  stood  a  shining 
array  of  pans  filled  with  milk  in  different  stages. 
Millicent  was  one  of  those  people  who  are  always 
stimulated  with  a  desire  to  accomplish  whatever 
other  people  are  engaged  in  doing.  She  now 
announced  her  intention  of  learning  to  milk. 
This  suggestion  was  promptly  vetoed  by  Hal, 


SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH.  35 

who,  to  divert  her  attention,  called  to  one  of  the 
men  to  bring  him  the  skimming  utensils.  He 
placed  a  large  stone  jar  beneath  the  shelf,  and 
taking  one  of  the  milk  pans  which  was  covered 
with  a  rich  coating  of  yellow  cream,  proceeded 
to  skim  it.  His  only  tool  was  a  little  wooden 
wand,  resembling  a  sculptor's  modelling  stick. 
With  this  he  separated  the  yellow  disk  of  cream 
from  the  sides  of  the  pan,  tipping  it  slightly  so 
that  the  whole  mass  of  cream  slipped  off  un 
broken,  leaving  the  pale-blue  skimmed  milk  in 
the  vessel.  Millicent  was  delighted  with  the 
operation  which  Hal  accomplished  with  such 
skill,  and  after  many  unsuccessful  attempts 
finally  performed  the  feat  in  a  manner  very 
creditable  to  a  beginner. 

"  If  you  will  find  your  way  back  to  the  house, 
Princess,  I  will  help  the  men  to  finish  the  milk 
ing,"  said  young  Deering,  when  Millicent  had 
announced  her  intention  of  returning. 

She  nodded  her  assent,  and  walking  a  few 
steps  stopped  and  leaned  over  the  gate  of  the 
farm-yard.  Presently  Deering  came  out  from 
the  dairy,  having  donned  his  rough  overalls  and 
jersey,  and,  placing  himself  on  a  three-legged 
stool,  proceeded  to  milk  a  tall  white  cow.  Milli 
cent  looked  at  him  musingly  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  then  took  her  way  down  the  path  which  led 
to  the  house.  It  was  but  a  short  distance,  and 


36  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

lay  within  sight  of  both  farm  and  dwelling-house, 
and  yet  she  was  somewhat  astonished  at  the 
young  man's  allowing  her  to  return  alone.  To 
see  him  milking,  too,  at  work  with  the  common 
laborers,  had  greatly  perplexed  her.  She  cast 
a  glance  over  her  shoulder  to  reassure  herself 
that  it  was  really  Hal's  hatless  head  which  was 
bending  forward,  almost  touching  the  side  of  the 
white  cow.  "  And  yet  he  is  a  gentleman,"  she 
said  aloud  ;  and,  remembering  the  white  hands 
of  her  papa  and  the  gentlemen  whom  she  had 
known  in  the  Old  World,  was  reminded  of  the 
truth,  which  when  it  is  spoken  seems  a  truism, 
and  yet  which  is  often  lost  sight  of,  that  the 
proof  of  gentlehood  lies  neither  in  the  skin  of 
the  body,  nor  its  raiment. 

Neither  goodly  clothes  nor  skin 
Show  the  gentleman  within. 


CHAPTER    III. 

"  And  to  watch  you  sink  by  the  fireside  now 
Back  again,  as  you  mutely  sit 
Musing  by  fire-light,  that  great  brow 
And  the  spirit-small  hand  propping  it." 

JOHN  DOUGLASS  GRAHAM,  by  birth  American, 
by  descent  Scottish,  by  profession  painter,  sat 
looking  out  from  his  tower  window.  It  was  too 
dark  to  paint,  and  not  yet  late  enough  for  him  to 
light  his  study  lamp  and  begin  his  evening  work ; 
so  he  sat  idle,  a  rare  thing  for  him.  Before  his 
window  there  stretched  a  fair  landscape  ;  and  a 
man,  a  painter  above  other  men,  might  well  be 
forgiven  an  hour's  idleness  in  such  a  place. 
The  sun's  last  rays  made  the  little  copse  look 
more  golden  and  dreamy  than  did  the  stronger 
morning  light.  The  still  pool  with  its  warm 
reflection  of  sky  and  trees,  the  mysterious  dark 
wood  beyond,  all  shadowy  and  full  of  dreams, 
made  a  picture  which  his  hand  never  wearied  of 
reproducing.  On  his  easel  stood  a  canvas  which 
bore  a  reflection  of  the  scene  on  which  he  was 
looking,  painted  in  a  strong,  masterly  manner, 
but  not  yet  completed.  "  Ah,  Heavens  !  no  won 
der  that  men  love  to  paint  in  cities,  with  nothing 
of  nature's  beauty  before  them  to  shame  their 


38  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

work.  If  I  dwelt  face  to  face  with  a  brick  wall 
and  saw  no  motion  save  that  of  horse-cars  and 
over-laden  dray  horses  I  might  be  more  satisfied 
with  what  I  accomplish.  This  picture  might 
then  seem  beautiful  to  me.  It  is  a  different 
thing  to  look  into  the  face  of  the  great  model 
and  then  at  one's  work.  Only  the  strongest  of 
us  can  do  that,  only  our  Dupres  and  Rousseaus. 
Shall  I  ever  feel  that  I  can  even  dimly  picture 
this  one  view  ?  Can  I  ever  send  my  testimony 
of  beauty  to  the  world  ?  Can  I  say  the  one  word 
of  truth  which  was  given  me  to  speak  ? " 

Graham  spoke  to  the  four  walls  to  which  most 
of  his  conversation  was  addressed.  The  only 
sympathy  he  ever  received  in  his  bursts  of  en 
thusiasm  or  despair  was  from  a  portrait  which 
hung  where  the  first  rays  of  light  fell  upon  it  in 
the  morning.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a  woman 
neither  young  nor  beautiful  with  the  beauty  of 
youth.  A  tender,  sad  face,  with  those  heavy 
lines  at  the  mouth  and  nose  which  tell  of  grief 
and  long  weeping.  The  gray  hair  was  smoothly 
brushed  from  the  forehead,  and  the  whole  mien 
and  costume  showed  that  dignity  of  age  so 
rarely  seen  in  these  days  when  grandmothers 
dress  in  rainbow-hued  garments  fit  for  their 
grandchildren,  curl  and  frizzle  their  locks  after 
the  mode  worn  by  the  reigning  beauty  of  the 
time,  and  in  every  possible  way  simulate  a  youth 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  39 

whose  charm  they  have  not,  thus  losing  the  real 
grace  which  belongs  to  their  age.  Before  his 
mother's  portrait  the  artist  always  kept  fresh 
flowers,  and  to  that  dear  and  noble  face  his  eyes 
were  turned  in  a  mute  appeal  for  sympathy 
many  times  during  the  long  solitary  day. 

The  fires  in  the  western  sky  burned  low  and 
finally  faded  out  before  Graham  rose  from  his  seat 
near  the  window  and  touched  his  lamp  into  flame. 
The  searching  light  of  the  large  astral  revealed 
clearly  the  interior  of  the  apartment  in  which 
the  artist  lived  and  worked.  It  was  a  square, 
high  room,  not  very  large,  with  a  miscellaneous 
furnishing.  One  corner,  half  hidden  by  a  large 
canvas,  was  devoted  to  his  narrow  wooden  bed 
and  dressing-table.  Near  a  large  casement  stood 
his  easel  with  palette  and  brushes.  On  the  walls 
hung  a  pair  of  foils  and  masks  and  some  boxing 
gloves.  These,  and  a  pair  of  Indian  clubs  in  the 
corner,  proved  that  the  occupant  of  the  tower 
was  not  careless  of  developing  the  splendid 
muscles  with  which  he  was  endowed.  Near  the 
doorway  hung  a  string  of  curious  Japanese  net- 
shukes,  —  masks,  monkeys,  bears,  men,  women, 
and  fruit,  carefully  carved  in  wood  or  ivory  by  the 
greatest  artificers  the  world  knows  to-day.  The 
walls  were  covered  with  pictures  and  sketches  ; 
the  large  table  littered  with  books  and  tubes  of 
paint.  A  group  of  deer  antlers  served  as  clothes- 


40  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

pegs,  and  the  floor  was  strewn  with  the  skins  of 
these  and  many  other  animals.  A  quaint  apart 
ment,  in  which  no  attempts  at  the  picturesque 
had  been  made,  which  the  careless  grouping 
together  of  many  objects  had  nevertheless  at 
tained. 

John  Graham  had  reclaimed  the  old  tower 
from  utter  desolation  two  years  before,  when  he 
took  up  his  residence  in  the  ruins  of  the  Span 
ish  Mission.  The  adobe  building  had  fallen  to 
decay,  a  thick  cloak  of  ivy  and  flowering  vines 
mercifully  hiding  from  the  light  of  day  the  deso 
late  ruin  of  what  had  been  the  religious  centre 
of  the  country  of  San  Rosario.  The  church 
walls  had  fallen  to  the  ground ;  but  the  reredos 
and  deserted  altar  stood  swept  by  the  winds  of 
heaven,  and  decked  with  climbing  roses  and 
clinging  ferns.  The  tower,  which  had  been  built 
very  substantially,  and  with  a  view  to  defence  in 
case  of  danger,  still  stood  stanch,  gray  and 
weather-beaten.  A  flight  of  steep  wooden  stairs 
leading  from  what  had  been  the  vestibule  of  the 
church  gave  access  to  the  room. 

The  tower  stood  within  the  limits  of  the  San 
Rosario  Ranch,  the  property  of  Mr.  Ralph  Alms- 
ford,  which  included  twenty  square  miles  of 
wooded  country  and  arable  land. 

When  Graham  had  asked  permission  to  estab 
lish  himself  in  the  old  tower,  Mr.  Almsford  had 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  41 

readily  granted  the  request,  thinking,  however, 
that  he  would  weary  of  the  solitary  life  in  a  few 
weeks.  Two  years  had  now  passed,  and  the 
artist  still  inhabited  his  little  eyrie,  whose  pos 
session  he  disputed  with  the  night  owls  which 
had  been  wont  to  sit  blinking  in  the  tower 
through  the  long  hours  of  daylight.  The  place 
was  five  miles  distant  from  the  Deering  house, 
and  Graham's  only  neighbor  was  an  old  wood 
cutter  who  lived  in  a  cabin  hard  by,  and  who  went 
by  the  name  of  French  John.  He  prepared  the 
artist's  meals  and  took  charge  of  his  room. 
French  John  was  a  strange,  silent  old  creature, 
whose  life  had  been  a  varied  one.  He  had 
served  in  the  French  army  first  as  a  soldier, 
then  as  an  officer's  servant.  His  reminiscences, 
when  he  could  be  induced  to  tell  them,  were  full 
of  interest.  He  had  been  in  Paris  in  '48 ;  his 
hands  had  helped  to  tear  up  the  pavement  to 
make  the  blockades  and  barriers.  He  had  served 
in  Algiers,  whence  he  had  come  to  America, 
and  gone  as  a  private  to  the  war  of  the  Southern 
Rebellion.  He  had  finally  drifted  out  to  the 
San  Rosario  Ranch,  where  he  would  in  all  prob 
ability  pass  the  remainder  of  his  days.  For 
some  reason  he  had  received  no  pension  from 
either  of  the  governments  for  the  support  of 
which  he  had  shed  his  blood.  In  his  old  age 
this  stranded  bit  of  humanity  was  forced  to  sup- 


42  SAN  EOSAE10  EANCH. 

port  himself  by  the  hard  labor  of  a  wood-cutter. 
His  little  cabin  was  built  behind  the  altar,  where 
the  Lady  Chapel  had  once  stood,  sheltered  from 
the  winds  by  the  high  screen  of  the  reredos. 

It  was  to  the  humble  dwelling  of  French 
John  that  Graham  proceeded  after  having  made 
a  toilet  with  unusual  care.  The  door  of  the 
little  log  hut  was  ajar ;  and  as  he  approached,  the 
interior  was  entirely  visible,  revealed  by  the  un 
certain  light  of  the  wood-fire.  The  old  man 
was  stooping  over  the  blaze  with  a  saucepan  in 
his  hand,  the  contents  of  which  he  was  vigor 
ously  stirring.  Three  cats  of  preternaturally  grave 
aspect  sat  nearby,  intently  watching  the  culinary 
preparations.  A  mangy  old  hunting  dog  lay 
snoring  in  the  corner,  gray  and  scarred  as  his 
master.  A  battered  fowling-piece  and  a  greasy 
game-bag  were  flung  on  the  wooden  bench  which 
served  as  table  and  chair  to  the  occupant  of  the 
humble  dwelling.  The  young  man  paused  a 
moment  on  the  threshold  and  sighed.  The  un 
kempt  little  cot  with  its  lonely  owner  only  dif 
fered  in  degree  from  his  own  tower,  from  himself. 
He  had  not  even  the  companionship  of  the 
dumb  beasts.  When  he  should  grow  as  old  and 
battered  as  the  wrinkled  wood-cutter,  would  he 
be  dependent  for  sympathy  on  a  purring  cat,  or 
an  old  dog  ?  Presently  he  spoke,  but  it  was  in 
a  loud,  cheery  voice  which  in  nowise  indicated 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH. 


43 


the  sombre  thought  which  had  just  suggested 
itself  to  his  mind. 

"Good-evening,  John.  What  luck  did  you 
have  to-day  ? " 

"  Four  quail  and  two  rabbits,"  replied  the  old 
man  laconically,  without  returning  the  greeting 
of  his  visitor. 

"  And  what  have  you  in  that  old  iron  pot 
of  yours  ?  Something  very  good,  I  warrant." 

"  Stewed  quail  with  bacon." 

"  Well,  you  must  eat  it  yourself,  for  I  do  not 
want  any  supper  to-night ;  I  am  going  up  to 
the  house  to  pass  the  evening.  Here  is  a  pack 
age  of  tobacco  for  you.  I  shall  be  ready  at  the 
usual  time  for  my  breakfast." 

The  old  man  nodded  his  thanks  for  the  pres 
ent  ;  and  Graham  left  the  hut,  and  proceeded  to 
the  spot  where  his  horse  was  tethered.  He 
saddled  and  mounted  the  mustang,  and  rode 
swiftly  down  the  narrow  path.  Old  John 
watched  from  his  doorway  the  movements  of 
the  young  man,  and  when  he  had  disappeared, 
sat  down  to  his  solitary  meal.  The  brief 
glimpses  of  Graham  and  his  many  kindly  acts 
were  the  only  human  influences  which  touched 
the  life  of  poor  old  French  John.  His  dealings 
with  Hal  Deering  were  rare  ;  once  in  a  month 
the  young  man  visited  his  cot,  overlooked  the 
work  he  had  been  engaged  upon,  and  paid  him 


44 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 


his  wages.  For  the  occasional  gifts  of  tobacco 
and  wine,  the  chance  newspaper  from  Paris, 
which  were  the  only  events  of  importance  in  the 
dull  routine  of  his  life,  he  was  indebted  to  Gra 
ham.  He  gave  no  expression  to  his  gratitude, 
and  would  have  been  sorely  puzzled  to  do  so. 
But  the  artist  was  none  the  less  aware  of  it ;  and 
some  portion  of  the  packages  which  occasionally 
came  to  the  tower  from  San  Francisco  never 
failed  to  find  their  way  to  the  hut  of  the 
wood-cutter. 

As  Graham  rode  up  the  gravel  path  which 
led  to  the  house,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  tall, 
slender  figure  swaying  out  from  the  gloom  of 
the  piazza.  A  white,  bare  arm  was  stretched 
upward  to  pluck  a  bunch  of  roses  from  a  vine 
twisted  about  the  porch.  Thus  much  he  saw  and 
nothing  more,  as  he  fastened  his  horse  and 
mounted  to  the  piazza,  which  had  suddenly 
become  tenantless.  The  house  door  stood  hos 
pitably  open,  and  the  young  man  entered  the 
hall  and  passed  into  the  library.  The  soft  can 
dle-light  showed  him  the  room  and  its  one  occu 
pant,  the  woman  whom  he  had  seen  dimly  amid 
the  climbing  roses  an  instant  before.  Evidently 
she  had  not  known  that  the  hoof-beats  on  the 
road  were  bringing  a  guest  ;  for  she  was  kneel 
ing  upon  the  hearth,  her  graceful  shoulders  bent, 
her  strong  white  arms  steadily  working  a  pair  of 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  45 

bellows.  The  total  depravity  of  inanimate  things 
is  never  more  clearly  seen  than  in  the  case  of  a 
wood-fire  that  refuses  to  burn.  The  girl,  after 
several  unavailing  efforts  to  rouse  a  flame  from 
the  smouldering  mass  of  embers,  deliberately 
took  the  fire  to  pieces  and  rebuilt  it  after 
another  fashion,  putting  a  handful  of  pine  cones 
atop  of  the  logs,  and  setting  them  alight  with  a 
roll  of  paper.  At  last  she  succeeded  in  starting 
the  blaze,  and,  stretching  her  graceful  length 
upon  the  deerskin  rug,  she  rested  her  elbows  on 
the  low  bench  before  the  fender,  and  lay  quite 
silent,  her  face  supported  by  her  hands,  her  dark 
eyes  looking  into  the  fire. 

John  Graham,  who  had  watched  from  the 
doorway  every  movement  of  the  unconscious 
young  woman  with  the  pleasure  of  an  artist  in 
all  things  which  are  graceful  and  beautiful,  still 
stood  silent,  giving  no  sign  of  his  presence. 
The  warm,  pleasant  interior,  with  its  comfortable 
easy  chairs  and  sofas,  its  open  piano,  near  which 
stood  a  work-basket,  its  shelves  of  books  and 
vases  of  flowers,  bore  all  the  infallible  indications 
which  mark  the  inmost  shrine  of  domestic  life. 
This  was  a  room  where  the  members  of  the 
household  lived.  Here  was  a  home,  the  centre 
of  affection  and  hospitality.  The  shadow  of  the 
lonely  old  man  and  his  desolate  dwelling  rose 
for  a  moment  before  his  eyes,  and  at  that 


46  SAN  EOSAEIO  RANCH. 

thought  he  stepped  forward  as  if  irresistibly 
drawn  toward  the  cheerful  hearth  and  the  grace 
ful  woman  whose  eyes  were  lighted  by  the  dan 
cing  flames.  There  was  a  tender  look  about  his 
mouth,  usually  so  stern  in  expression,  as  he 
came  forward  into  the  firelight  with  an  expectant 
countenance,  as  if  he  were  about  to  meet  an  old 
friend.  Hearing  the  footsteps,  the  girl  without 
turning  her  head  said,  — 

"Well,  Barbara,  here  you  see  me,  making  my 
self  comfortable  on  Graham's  deerskin.  It  has 
just  come  home  ;  is  it  not  a  beauty  ?  " 

Receiving  no  answer,  Miss  Millicent  Almsford 
turned  her  face  so  that  her  eyes  fell  upon  John 
Graham  standing  near  her,  with  a  smile  on  his 
lips,  a  flush  on  his  cheek.  Was  it  the  sudden 
leaping  of  the  fire  from  the  heart  of  the  great 
apple  log,  John  Graham  asked  himself,  or  was 
it  the  shining  of  a  flame  from  within  that  lighted 
Millicent's  face  with  a  strange  radiance  at  the 
instant  when  her  eyes  met  his  own  ?  For  an 
instant,  a  space  of  time  too  short  to  be  counted 
by  seconds,  for  something  less  than  one  quick 
ened  heartbeat,  they  looked  at  each  other,  these 
two,  the  woman  with  his  name  still  on  her  lips, 
the  man  drawn  toward  the  warm  fireside  by  an 
uncontrollable  desire  to  take  his  place  in  the 
picture,  to  remain  no  longer  an  outsider,  a 
looker-on.  One  instant,  and  then  habit,  cere- 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH. 


47 


mony,  the  second  nature  of  both,  asserted  itself, 
and  each  shrank  back  from  that  too  intimate 
glance;  the  girl  rising  slowly  to  her  feet,  the 
man  making  a  ceremonious  bow. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  disturbing  you,  Miss 
Almsford  ;  but  I  found  the  door  open,  and  I  am 
allowed  the  privilege  of  making  myself  at  home 
at  San  Rosario.  As  there  is  no  one  here  to  in 
troduce  me,  will  you  allow  me  to  name  myself  as 
your  most  humble  servitor,  John  Graham  ?  I  am 
vain  enough  to  hope  that  my  name  is  not  quite  un 
known  to  you.  Hal  has  perhaps  spoken  of  me." 

"  Indeed,  yes,  they  have  all  mentioned  you 
frequently.  Mrs.  Deering  and  Barbara  have  not 
yet  returned  from  the  station.  When  you  came 
in  I  thought  they  had  returned.  I  think  the  train 
must  be  late  ;  they  drove  down  to  meet  a  friend. 
Will  you  not  be  seated,  Mr.  Graham  ?  " 

Millicent  had  by  this  time  quite  recovered  her 
equanimity,  somewhat  shaken  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  the  man  who  had  lived  so  per 
sistently  in  her  thoughts  for  the  past  fortnight. 
She  seated  herself  near  the  fire,  motioning  Gra 
ham  to  a  chair  on  the  other  side. 

"  I  suppose  that  this  fire  quite  shocks  you  ? 
Mr.  Deering  cannot  bear  to  sit  in  the  same  room 
with  it ;  but  I  have  suffered  so  much  from  the 
change  of  climate  that  I  am  allowed  to  have  this 
little  blaze  every  evening.  Do  you  see  this  pretty 


48  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

rug  ?  It  only  came  home  to-day.  Mr.  Deering 
had  it  dressed  for  me.  It  is  from  the  deer  which 
you  brought  here  one  morning,  —  a  beautiful,  soft 
piece  of  fur." 

"  Yes,  it  is  well  arranged  too.  Did  I  under 
stand  you,  Miss  Almsford,  to  say  that  Miss 
Deering  had  gone  to  meet  some  visitors  ? " 

"  Yes,  but  you  need  not  mind," —  her  quick  ear 
had  caught  the  shade  of  annoyance  in  his  voice, 
—  "  it  is  only  poor  Ferrara." 

"  Poor  Ferrara  ?  Ah,  I  see  you  have  already 
guessed  his  secret." 

"  Who  could  help  it  when  it  was  so  very  evi 
dent?  Do  you  think  Barbara  will  ever  say  yes?" 

"I  cannot  tell.  I  sometimes  hope  so,  but  she 
is  over-fastidious." 

"  Fastidious  ?  Is  that  the  term  to  use  ?  Surely 
you  would  not  have  her  marry  him  unless  she 
loved  him  ?  To  a  woman  like  Barbara  such  a 
fate  would  be  intolerable." 

"  I  do  not  quite  agree  with  you.  You  know 
that  self-sacrifice  is  Miss  Deering's  greatest  idea 
of  happiness." 

"  I  cannot  comprehend  it ;  truly  I  think  I  do 
not  understand  Barbara,  though  I  do  appre 
ciate  her  and  admire  her.  They  have  been  ex 
pecting  a  visit  from  you  for  some  time.  Mr. 
Deering  said  he  should  ride  over  to  your  tower 
and  look  you  up  to-morrow." 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 


49 


"  I  have  been  very  much  occupied  of  late,  or 
I  should  have  paid  my  respects  to  you  before 
this  time.  If  you  have  heard  anything  about 
me,  you  must  have  heard  that  I  am  an  undepend- 
able  person,  and  never  do  the  things  which  people 
expect  of  me.  Besides,  I  am  a  hard-working  crea 
ture,  and  not  of  the  butterfly  genus  of  man  like 
our  good  Ferrara.  Tell  me  a  little  how  this  new 
country  strikes  you.  What  a  change  it  must 
be,  this  sudden  transplantation  from  Venice  to 
California  ! " 

"  I  have  suffered  terribly.  Ah !  Mr.  Graham, 
you  who  have  known  my  Venice  can  feel  for  me. 
None  of  them  here  can  understand  it.  I  feel 
like  a  plant  which  has  been  torn  suddenly  from 
a  garden  beautiful  with  flowers  and  sunshine, 
gentle  showers  and  happy  birds,  and  placed  with 
its  roots  all  torn  and  bleeding  on  a  barren  moun 
tain-side,  with  no  flowers  near  it,  only  sturdy,  use 
ful  herbs,  which  neither  shrivel  in  the  terrible 
sun,  nor  wither  in  the  keen  mountain  winds.  But 
/  fade  and  die.  There  is  no  room  for  me  in  this 
great  New  World,  where  all  are  so  busy  and  have 
so  much  work  to  do.  The  few  beauties  which 
they  have,  their  blue  skies  and  grand  hills,  they 
neither  understand  nor  love.  They  have  no  time 
to  look  back  into  the  glorious  past  with  its  mem 
ories  ;  they  know  not  how  to  seize  the  present 
with  its  actualities ;  they  live  and  toil  ever  for  the 

4 


50  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

future,  which  they  will  not  live  to  see.  I  have 
nought  in  common  with  them.  I  belong  to  the 
land  of  my  birth,  where  the  present  is  beautiful 
.  with  the  splendors  of  the  past.  What  are  my 
books,  my  studies,  to  these  people  ?  Nothing. 
They  tolerate  my  eccentricity ;  they  listen  pat 
ronizingly  to  the  tales  of  what  has  been  ;  but 
they  bemoan  my  wasted  time,  and  would  fain  teach 
me  to  throw  away  my  embroidery  needle  and 
learn  to  use  their  horrible  sewing-machines. 
My  music  is  my  saving  grace,  but  they  approve 
of  it  more  than  they  en  joy  it" 

Millicent  spoke  rapidly  and  with  shining  eyes. 
She  had  at  last  found  a  soul  which,  if  not  kindred 
to  her  own,  was  at  least  capable  of  an  intelligent 
sympathy. 

"  It  is  not  strange  that  you  should  feel  as  you 
do  ;  and,  believe  me,  I  can  sympathize  with  you ; 
and  yet,  do  not  be  hurt  if  I  tell  you  that  this  very 
transplanting  is  the  thing  which  you  needed.  Do 
you  know  how  the  finest  peaches  are  produced  ? 
To  borrow  another  simile  from  nature,  it  is  by 
taking  a  slip  from  an  old  tree  and  grafting  it  to 
the  sturdy  trunk  of  a  young  fruit  tree,  that  the 
most  perfect  fruit  is  obtained.  Be  not  afraid; 
the  wound  will  heal  ;  and  the  strong,  vigorous 
sap  of  the  young  tree  will  make  the  blossom, 
which  now  droops,  bloom  as  a  rare  fruit." 

"  I  do  not  want  it.     I  do  not  belong  here.     I 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  51 

have  no  part,  no  sympathy  with  it,"  she  said  re- 
belliously.  "  I  hate  it,  this  land,  where  you  all 
strive  for  money,  not  for  art,  and  where  fame  is 
measured  out  with  ingots  for  weights." 

"When  I  was  in  Venice,"  said  Graham,  "  there 
was  with  me  a  fellow  artist,  a  student  like  my 
self.  We  took  our  first  trip  through  the  Grand 
Canal  together.  I  remember  his  first  criticism. 
Shall  I  tell  it  to  you  ?  It  was  this  :  '  How  terrible 
to  see  cabbage  leaves  floating  on  the  Grand 
Canal ! '  It  was  the  feature  which  first  struck  him. 
For  years  after  he  lived  in  the  wonderful  city, 
loving  it  better,  painting  it  more  truly,  day  by  day. 
He  has  long  since  forgotten  the  cabbage  leaves 
which  at  first  annoyed  his  nice  English  taste. 
Believe  me,  you  will  find,  above  and  beneath 
the  things  which  now  jar  and  shock  your  nerves, 
much  that  is  grand  in  this  country  which  you 
will  one  day  be  proud  to  call  your  own." 

"  Never,  never  !  "  she  cried  impetuously. 

At  this  moment  voices  sounded  in  the  hall, 
and  several  persons  entered  the  library.  These 
were  Barbara  and  her  mother,  Hal  Deering,  and 
a  short  gentleman  with  a  very  large  round  head, 
on  which  the  coarse  black  hair,  closely  cropped, 
stood  straight  in  air,  like  the  hobbed  mane  of  a 
Mexican  pony.  His  piercing  black  eyes  were 
set  too  close  to  the  well-shaped  aquiline  nose; 
and  the  black  mustache  curled  fiercely  from 


52  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

the  upper  lip,  revealing  a  good  mouth  set  with 
strong  white  teeth.  His  forehead  was  deeply 
seared  with  lines  which  betokened  frequent 
frowns,  but  the  wrinkles  about  the  mouth  looked 
as  if  it  might  be  in  the  habit  of  laughing  con 
stantly.  A  good  olive  complexion  made  the  face 
not  ill-looking,  while  the  small,  well-modelled 
hands  and  feet  redeemed  the  rather  unwieldy 
little  body  from  absolute  ugliness.  On  seeing 
Graham,  the  new-comer  frowned  fiercely  and 
twisted  his  mustache  upward  in  an  irritated  man 
ner.  When  the  artist  stepped  forward  so  that 
the  light  from  the  lamp  fell  on  his  face,  the  irate 
expression  died  from  the  countenance  of  the 
little  gentleman  ;  and,  with  a  fat,  good-natured 
laugh,  he  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  turn 
ing  his  mustachios  downward  so  that  they  re 
sembled  drooping  commas.  This  act  altered  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  to  an  extraordinary 
degree,  half  its  ferocity  having  disappeared  with 
the  tight  upward  twist  of  the  mustache. 

By  some  coincidence  or  providence  this  had 
been  a  red-letter  day  in  the  lives  of  several  in 
the  party.  The  morning  mail  had  brought 
young  Deering  the  welcome  news  that  his  favor 
ite  pair  of  oxen  had  taken  a  prize  at  a  cattle- 
show  the  day  before.  The  gentle  mother  had 
received  a  letter  by  the  same  mail  from  her 
wandering  son-in-law,  Ralph  Almsford,  full  of 


SAN  BOSARIO  RANCH.  53 

affection  and  promising  a  speedy  return  to  the 
Ranch.  Ferrara  was  greatly  elated  by  Barbara's 
having  driven  down  to  the  station  to  meet  him ; 

O  *  ' 

and  Millicent  seemed,  for  the  first  time  since  her 
arrival  at  the  Ranch,  to  be  thoroughly  alive  and 
awake.  Her  pale  cheek  was  softly  flushed,  the 
color  shining  through  the  luminous  skin  like  the 
fire  of  an  opal  seen  beneath  its  milky  veil.  Her 
eyes,  usually  deep  and  earnest,  but  without  great 
animation,  were  lit  by  a  flame  which  was  not  re 
flected  from  the  firelight.  Barbara  was  happy 
because  those  about  her  were  so.  Her  musical 
little  laugh  was  not  mechanical  to-night ;  she 
was  really  in  good  spirits  and  in  no  need  of 
feigning  them.  Graham's  rather  frozen  exist 
ence  seemed  to  be  melted  by  the  genial  com 
pany  ;  and  the  evening  passed  by  with  that 
lightning  rapidity  unknown  in  social  gatherings, 
no  matter  how  magnificently  they  be  appointed, 
where  the  spirit  of  cordiality  and  good-fellowship 
is  lacking.  Music  was  not  wanting  to  complete 
the  jollity.  Ferrara  sang  some  delightful  Span 
ish  songs  with  more  animation  than  voice  ;  and, 
to  the  astonishment  of  the  company,  Millicent, 
who  until  that  moment  had  not  sung  a  note,  at 
Graham's  request  seated  herself  at  the  piano, 
and  sang,  with  a  voice  of  rare  beauty  and  power, 
ballads  tender  and  war-songs  gay,  old  Italian 
music  of  masters  long  forgotten. 


54 


SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH. 


"  Sweet  Mistress  Deering,  will  you  not  give 
us  some  music  ?  "  asked  Graham,  as  Millicent 
left  the  piano. 

"  After  such  singing  as  Millicent's  and  Mr. 
Ferrara's,  my  little  thread  of  a  voice  could  hardly 
be  heard,  Graham." 

"  Play  for  us  then,  my  lady.  Miss  Barbara, 
are  you  not  in  the  mood  for  a  dance  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  is,"  said  Hal,  "  and  so  is 
Ferrara.  Come,  Princess,  I  will  give  you  your 
first  lesson  in  the  American  waltz." 

The  young  men  rolled  back  the  huge  rugs, 
leaving  the  hard-wood  floor  exposed.  Mrs.  Deer- 
ing-  placed  herself  at  the  piano  and  struck  up  a 
little  old-fashioned  waltz  which  she  had  learned 
in  her  youth,  and  Millicent  was  whirled  off  her 
feet  by  her  energetic  partner.  Not  till  she  had 
danced  twice  with  Deering  and  Ferrara,  did 
Graham  claim  her  hand  for  a  waltz  ;  and  not  till 
Mrs.  Deering  struck  the  last  chords  of  the  music 
did  he  loose  her  waist  from  his  circling  arm. 
Then  a  stroll  on  the  piazza,  was  proposed,  and  it 
was  not  till  the  last  stroke  of  twelve  warned 
them  that  the  new  day  had  begun  that  the  party 
broke  up.  Barbara  and  Millicent  stood  together 
watching  for  Hal,  who  had  gone  to  fetch  Gra 
ham's  horse,  when  the  artist  joined  them  on  the 
piazza  and  bade  them  good-night.  Millicent, 
with  her  foreign  breeding,  never  had  conformed 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  55 

to  the  American  habit  of  hand-shaking,  but 
when  Graham  wished  her  good-night  she  in 
stinctively  and  unconsciously  gave  him  her 
hand.  He  held  it  possibly  a  half  second  longer 
than  was  necessary,  and  then  sprang  on  his 
horse.  As  he  rode  down  the  dark  path,  he 
turned  in  his  saddle  and  took  a  last  look  at  the 
house.  Barbara  had  gone  indoors  ;  one  figure 
alone  stood  beneath  the  rose-vine  with  bare  white 
arms,  the  figure  he  had  seen  on  his  arrival  ear 
lier  in  the  evening. 

"  Good-night  to  you,"  he  cried.  The  deep, 
musical  tones  were  answered  by  a  farewell 
greeting  from  the  girl  who  stood  there  alone 
in  the  night  watching  his  retreating  form. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  Then,  in  the  boyhood  of  the  year, 
Sir  Launcelot  and  Queen  Guinevere 
Rode  through  the  coverts  of  the  deer 
With  blissful  treble  ringing  clear  ; 
She  seemed  a  part  of  joyous  Spring." 

THOUGH  the  greater  part  of  his  time  was  spent 
in  the  old  tower,  John  Graham  was  well  known 
in  San  Francisco.  His  studio,  at  the  top  of  a 
tall  apartment-house  in  one  of  the  unfrequented 
thoroughfares  of  the  city,  was  familiar  to  most 
of  its  aspirants  to  artistic  fame.  In  this  large 
bare  room,  with  its  strong  north  light,  there  as 
sembled  every  morning  a  dozen  young  men 
who  were  busily  engaged  in  cast  drawing  and 
model  painting.  To  the  instruction  of  these 
youths  two  days  of  the  week  were  devoted  by 
the  artist,  whose  only  recompense  was  in  the 
gratitude  of  his  scholars.  One  morning  not 
long  after  his  meeting  with  Miss  Almsford, 
John  Graham  might  have  been  seen  carefully 
examining  his  pupils'  work,  giving  a  word  of 
advice  here,  a  criticism  there,  and  a  hearty 
encouragement  to  all.  On  his  return  from 
Paris  he  had  opened  his  studio  to  all  those  who 
were  desirous  of  studying  art.  The  first  year 
he  had  had  but  three  students  ;  at  the  end  of  the 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  57 

second  year  the  number  had  quadrupled.  On 
the  morning  in  question  Graham  had  arrived 
with  a  new  model,  —  a  rough-looking  fellow  whom 
he  had  met  in  the  street,  and  induced  to  ac 
company  him  to  the  studio.  On  a  platform  at 
the  end  of  the  room  stood  the  stalwart  model ; 
while  the  artist,  standing  beside  him,  gave  an  off 
hand  lecture  on  anatomy,  the  students  sketched 
the  man  or  took  notes  of  what  their  master  was 
saying.  It  was  not  Graham's  habit  to  do  any 
work  at  the  studio ;  but  this  morning,  after  he 
had  finished  his  discourse,  he  placed  himself  at 
a  vacant  easel,  and  with  a  strong,  bold  hand  made 
a  free  drawing  of  the  superbly  modelled  figure. 
As  he  worked  he  forgot  his  class,  his  lecture, 
everything  but  the  canvas  before  him  and  the 
subject  he  was  studying.  As  the  sketch  grew 
beneath  his  hand  the  scholars  one  by  one  for 
sook  their  work,  and  stood  watching  him  silently. 
The  perfect  confidence  with  which  he  worked  — 
never  hesitating,  never  altering  what  was  already 
done  —  was  fascinating  to  the  younger  men; 
and  even  the  sculptor,  Arthur  Northcote,  who 
inhabited  the  adjoining  studio,  stopped  on  his 
way  upstairs  and  joined  the  group  behind  his 
chair.  When  the  model  declared  himself  unable 
longer  to  maintain  the  pose  in  which  he  had 
been  placed,  Graham  threw  down  his  brush  with 
a  sigh,  saying,  — 


58  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"Well,  Horton,  you  may  go  now  if  you  must, 
but  do  not  fail  to  come  to-morrow.  I  have  your 
name  correctly,  —  Daniel  Horton  ?  Where  do 
you  live  ? " 

The  stranger  declined  to  give  his  address,  and 
promised  to  come  the  next  day  at  the  appointed 
hour.  After  he  had  left  the  room  the  artist  had 
something  to  say  about  expression,  characteriz 
ing  the  face  of  the  model  as  one  indicative  of 
brutal  cunning  and  impudent  daring. 

As  Graham  quitted  the  studio  the  young  sculp 
tor  joined  him,  and  they  walked  together  toward 
the  station.  Northcote  was  a  slender,  delicately 
built  man  some  years  Graham's  junior.  His 
face  was  instinct  with  the  poetry  of  art,  but  was 
lacking  in  force.  By  the  side  of  Graham's  strong, 
resolute  countenance  his  delicate  features  ap 
peared  weak  and  effeminate.  The  younger  man 
took  his  friend's  arm,  as  if  relying  on  him  for 
physical  as  well  as  moral  support,  and  said  as 
they  walked  along,  — 

"  Graham,  where  did  you  pick  up  that  model 
this  morning  ?  " 

"  I  found  him  lounging  about  the  station. 
Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  He  has  such  a  bad  face.  You  should  be 
more  careful  about  the  men  you  engage  to  pose 
for  you." 

"  And  why,  Arthur  ?  " 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  59 

"  Because  you  lead  such  an  unprotected  life 
in  that  terrible  old  ruin." 

"  What  a  fanciful  creature  you  are,  Northcote. 
As  if  there  was  anything  to  be  gained  in  mo 
lesting  a  beggarly  artist  in  an  inaccessible  for 
tress.  You  have  never  seen  my  tower,  or  you 
would  not  think  that  it  would  be  an  attractive 
spot  to  thieves." 

"  Did  you  not  hear,"  continued  Northcote,  "  of 
that  case  of  abduction  in  Cathgate  County  last 
week  ?  A  man  was  carried  off  by  a  pair  of  brig 
ands,  and  kept  for  a  week  until  a  large  sum  of 
money  was  paid  for  his  ransom." 

"  What  manner  of  man  was  he  ?  " 

"  The  president  of  the  county  bank." 

"Well,  my  dear  Arthur,  when  I  become  a  bank 
president,  or  even  a  railroad  treasurer,  I  will  take 
better  care  of  my  worthless  self.  At  present  I 
am  not  a  promising  prize  to  the  most  sanguine 
kidnapper.  I  can  fancy  your  feelings  on  receiving 
a  notice  that,  unless  five  thousand  dollars  be  left 
in  the  hollow  of  a  blasted  pine-tree  on  the  high 
road  at  San  Rosario,  a  slice  of  my  right  ear 
would  be  forwarded  by  way  of  a  reminder ! 
When  are  you  coming  out  to  pass  the  night 
with  me  ? " 

"When  I  have  sold  my  Diana,  or  when  Patrick 
Shallop  gives  me  an  order  for  a  life-size  statue 
of  himself." 


60  SAN  EOSAE10  RANCH. 

"  Come  with  me  to-day.  It  will  do  you  good 
to  pass  an  afternoon  in  the  woods." 

"Do  not  ask  me.  I  will  take  nothing  more 
from  you,  Graham,  —  I  cannot,  —  not  even  a  piece 
of  bread,  until  — 

"  Well,  if  you  are  so  obstinate,  farewell  to  you. 
I  must  hurry  or  I  shall  miss  my  train." 

The  two  men  shook  hands  the  sculptor  turn 
ing  into  a  dingy  restaurant,  the  artist  walking 
rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  railroad  station. 
Arthur  Northcote  made  a  light  repast,  —  for  he 
was  poorer  than  usual  that  day,  —  and  soon  re 
turned  to  his  studio,  whose  rental  was  defrayed 
by  his  friend's  slender  purse. 

Graham  caught  his  train,  and  reached  San  Ro- 
sario  at  about  three  o'clock.  He  found  his  horse 
at  the  station,  and  rode  toward  the  house.  At  a 
distant  point  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  two  figures 
on  the  piazza,  which  he  recognized  as  those  of 
Miss  Almsford  and  Hal  Deering,  who  were  talking 
together,  quite  unconscious  of  his  approach. 

"So  you  like  Graham?"  Henry  Deering  was 
the  speaker. 

"  Of  course  I  like  him.  I  told  you  I  should, 
from  the  moment  you  described  his  queer  tower 
and  his  solitary  life  to  me.  I  always  like  people 
who  have  something  to  characterize  them  and 
set  them  apart  from  the  mere  dead-level  rank 
and  file  of  mediocrity,"  answered  Millicent. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  6l 

"  But  may  not  a  hermit  like  Graham  be  medi 
ocre  like  everybody  else  ?  " 

"  No,  the  fact  of  his  living  alone  does  not 
make  him  interesting  ;  but  he  would  not  live 
alone  if  he  were  like  everybody  else.  Ordinary 
people  all  herd  together." 

"  You  must  find  all  of  us  very  ordinary  people, 
I  should  think,  after  the  people  you  have  lived 
among,  —  romantic  Italians  and  that  sort?" 

"  But  Italians  are  by  no  means  all  interesting. 
The  great  charm  about  them  is  that  they  are  usu 
ally  a  happy  people,  and  that  it  does  not  take  so 
much  to  make  them  contented  as  it  does  you 
more  complex  Americans." 

"  You  Americans  ?  How  soon  are  you  going  to 
call  yourself  an  American  ?  But  you  do  not  an 
swer  my  question.  How  can  you  manage  to  get 
on  as  well  as  you  do  with  commonplace  people 
like  ourselves  ? " 

"  You  are  not  commonplace.  A  man  who 
knows  how  to  milk  cows  and  digs  potatoes,  who 
rubs  down  his  own  horse  and  feeds  his  stock, 
and  can  withal  dance  like  a  city  beau,  and  keep 
a  table  full  of  people  laughing  from  the  soup  to 
the  coffee,  cannot  be  called  commonplace." 

"Thank  you,  Princess,  most  heartily  for  the 
compliment.  I  see  you  will  not  be  pinned  down 
by  my  rather  personal  question.  Let  me  pay 
you  with  some  of  your  own  coin.  I  think  it 


62  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

quite  remarkable  that  you  have  so  quickly  fitted 
into  the  life  here,  and  have  accepted  so  quietly 
things  which  must  be  very  strange  to  you.  The 
difference  of  the  way  of  living,  the  surroundings, 
the  very  strangeness  of  being  waited  on  by  these 
Chinamen,  must  be  very  uncomfortable,  I  fear?" 

"  Do  noj  suggest  a  W9rd  against  Ah  Lam  ;  he 
is  the  most  delightful  servant  I  have  ever  seen. 
Our  Italian  domestics  are  like  great  children, 
who  have  to  be  humored  and  managed  with  the 
extreme  of  tact  and  care.  Ah  Lam  is  like  noth 
ing  but  one  of  the  automata  described  by  Bulwer 
in  *  The  Coming  Race/  which  stand  motionless 
against  the  wall  until  roused  to  action  by  the 
vrill  wand,  when  they  promptly  perform  the  duty 
in  hand.  Ah  Lam  is  only  mechanical  as  far  as 
regularity  goes,  for  he  has  feelings  and  deep 
sentiments  beneath  his  calm  exterior.  Do  you 
know  that  he  brings  me  fresh  roses  every  morn 
ing,  and  that  when  he  returned  from  San  Fran 
cisco  yesterday  he  brought  me  a  present  ? " 

"  They  all  do  that ;  they  are  the  most  generous 
creatures  in  the  world.  What  did  Lam  bring 
you  ? " 

"  The  prettiest  little  China  silk  handkerchief, 
which  he  presented  with  these  words  :  '  I  solly 
got  no  more,  I  so  poor.'  Was  it  not  touching  ? " 

"  How  do  your  lessons  get  on  ?  " 

"Very  well.     Lam  learns  ten  or  twelve  new 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  63 

words  every  day.  I  give  him  the  English  word 
for  an  article,  and  he  gives  me  the  Chinese  ;  and 
the  following  day  we  catechise  each  other  ;  but 
I  have  never  remembered  a  Chinese  name,  and 
Lam  has  never  forgotten  an  English  one.  Then 
I  set  him  copies,  which  he  writes  out  beautifully 
with  his  queer  little  camel's-hair  brush  dipped 
in  India-ink.  I  fear  the  sentiments  will  not 
greatly  benefit  him,  but  I  try  to  explain  them 
to  him." 

"  Give  me  an  example  of  your  copy-book  max 
ims  ;  I  am  sure  they  are  something  new,  quite 
unlike  those  I  was  brought  up  on." 

"  I  take  my  verses  all  from  Mr.  Lear's  '  Non 
sense  Book  ; '  they  will  help  him  geographically, 
if  not  otherwise."  , 

"  You  have  given  him  the  '  Old  Man  of 
Moldavia '  ? " 

"Assuredly." 

"  Truly,  Princess,  you  are  the  most  inexplica 
ble  person  I  have  ever  seen.  I  find  you  in  the 
morning  with  a  volume  of  Spinoza  in  your  hand, 
trying  to  explain  his  particular  dogma  of  philoso 
phy  to  poor  Barbara ;  and  in  the  afternoon  you 
are  talking  about  this  absurd  child's  book  as  if 
it  were  something  serious.  You  snubbed  that 
poor  professor  last  night,  because  he  presumed 
to  give  an  opinion  concerning  Dante,  never 
having  read  him  in  the  original  ;  and  to-day  I 


64  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

heard  you  ask  my  mother  if  Washington  was  in 
the  State  of  New  York.  You  are  remarkably 
erudite  and  positively  ignorant  at  the  same 
time." 

"  Eh  bene,  cosa  volet e  ?     I  —  " 

"Now  what  is  the  use  of  talking  Italian  to 
me  ?  You  know  I  can't  understand  a  word  of 
it,  and  —  " 

A  third  voice  interrupted  Deering.  It  was 
that  of  a  man  who  had  joined  the  pair  unnoticed 
by  either  of  them,  the  sound  of  his  footsteps 
being  muffled  by  the  deep  grass. 

"  If  Miss  Almsford  knew  how  pretty  her  man 
ner  of  speaking  English  was,  she  would  never 
have  resort  to  the  weaker  language  of  her  birth 
place  to  express  her  thoughts." 

"What,  Graham,  with  a  gallant  speech  upon 
his  lips  !  Wonder  of  wonders  !  Princess,  he 
has  the  sharpest  tongue  and  the  keenest  wit  I 
have  ever  known.  Beware  of  him  !  When  did 
you  come  ?  " 

"  Just  now  ;  I  rode  over  to  see  if  Miss  Alms- 
ford  was  in  the  mood  for  a  ride,  and  to  offer  my 
services  as  cavalier,  knowing  that  your  after 
noons,  my  dear  Deering,  are  too  much  occupied 
for  you  to  play  esquire  to  this  fair  dame." 

"  It  is  the  thing  of  all  others  I  should  enjoy," 
said  Millicent ;  "  I  will  be  ready  in  ten  minutes." 

Deering  strolled  off,  rather  disconsolately,  in 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  65 

the  direction  of  the  dairy,  Graham  accompanying 
him  as  far  as  the  stable,  where  he  proceeded  to 
put  Barbara's  saddle  on  the  back  of  a  sturdy 
cob,  which  from  his  immovable  character  had 
been  named  Sphinx. 

The  artist  had  visited  the  house  several  times 
since  his  first  meeting  with  Millicent,  and  had 
promised  to  be  her  guide  to  the  high  hill-top, 
whence  a  view  of  the  Sierra  Nevadas  was  to  be 
obtained.  Up  the  narrow  bridle  path  toiled  the 
two  horses,  Graham's  leading  the  way.  The 
road  was  a  difficult  one,  underbrush  and  rolling 
stones  making  it  dangerous  for  any  horse  which 
was  not  sure-footed.  Old  Sphinx  set  his  feet 
firmly  on  the  solid  ground,  avoiding  all  pit-falls 
in  a  wary  fashion.  The  air  was  sweet  with  the 
spicy  breath  of  the  madrone  tree,  whose  dark 
red  bark  and  brilliant  glossy  leaves  gleamed  out 
here  and  there  through  the  darker  foliage  of  the 
great  redwoods.  The  young  man  turned  his 
head  over  his  shoulder,  letting  his  mustang  find 
out  the  path,  and  talked  to  his  companion,  who 
was  not  yet  at  home  in  the  saddle.  One  of  the 
new  delights  which  the  western  country  held  for 
Millicent  was  that  of  riding.  Most  of  her  life 
had  been  spent  in  Venice ;  and  she  had  had  little 
opportunity  for  indulging  in  that  most  exhilar 
ating  exercise.  Graham  assured  her  that  she 
would  soon  make  a  good  rider,  as  she  quickly 

5 


66  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

learned  to  assume  the  graceful  but  uncomfort 
able  position  compelled  by  the  side-saddle.  She 
was  without  fear,  having  that  sort  of  bravery 
which  is  found  in  some  children,  and  which 
comes  from  an  ignorance  of  danger. 

From  a  point  in  the  road  whence  a  view  of 
the  happy  valley  was  to  be  obtained,  Graham 
reined  in  his  horse.  The  wide,  pleasant  valley 
lay  below  them,  the  house,  its  central  point  of 
interest,  standing  surrounded  by  the  orchard 
and  garden.  A  brook  wound  like  a  silver  ribbon 
through  the  wide  fields  and  wooded  groves, 
under  rustic  bridges,  here  and  there  breaking 
into  foam  over  a  mass  of  stone,  or  a  sudden 
shelving  of  the  land. 

When  they  again  started  Graham  dismounted, 
and,  passing  his  arm  through  the  bridle  of  his 
horse,  took  Sphinx  by  the  rein  and  led  him  over 
the  rough  bit  of  country.  Whether  from .  an 
exaggerated  idea  of  courtesy,  or  because  the 
head  covering  was  irksome,  Graham  doffed  his 
hat  and  walked  bareheaded,  the  little  shafts  of 
sunshine  touching  his  dark  hair  with  points  of 
light.  The  tall  girl  noted  the  sun  and  shadow 
which  made  this  and  all  else  lovely  on  this  fair 
afternoon.  As  the  ascent  became  steeper,  the 
trees  were  less  dense  and  the  path  grew  wider. 
Graham  still  walked  beside  her  horse,  though 
there  was  no  longer  need  for  him  to  do  so.  As 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  67 

they  emerged  upon  a  broad  plateau  Millicent 
drew  her  breath  and  touched  Graham  lightly 
with  her  whip,  laying  her  finger  on  her  lip  and 
pointing  to  a  little  hillside  spring,  which  ran 
dancing  from  the  rich  dark  earth.  Close  to  the 
spring  stood  a  magnificent  buck  and  a  graceful 
doe.  The  stag  had  bent  his  head  and  was  drink 
ing  from  the  basin  which  the  water  had  worn 
for  itself,  and  which  was  surrounded  by  a  ring  of 
green  turf,  jewelled  with  star  blue  and  pale  rose 
blossoms.  Of  this  tender  herbage,  so  different 
from  the  dried  grass  of  the  hillside  and  meadow, 
the  dainty  doe  was  nibbling  little  morsels.  For 
a  moment  neither  of  the  animals  perceived  the 
approach  of  the  riders,  and  stood  quite  still  in 
their  unconscious  beauty.  Graham's  hand  in 
stinctively  sought  the  revolver  in  his  pocket. 
As  he  was  taking  aim  Millicent's  velvet  fingers 
closed  about  the  steel  barrel,  and  she  cried  aloud, 
"  You  could  not  be  so  cruel ! " 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  the  stag  threw  up 
his  great  head  with  a  mighty  shiver,  tossing  the 
crystal  water  drops  from  his  nose.  Before  the 
last  word  was  spoken  the  slender,  dappled  doe 
had  flashed  across  the  path  and  was  out  of  sight, 
her  mate  with  outstretched  head  following  close 
upon  her  track.  For  an  instant  the  flowing  lines 
of  the  swift  motion  were  seen  on  the  sky  back 
ground,  and  then  the  trembling  leaves  of  the 


68  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

thicket  into  which  they  had  penetrated  were  all 
that  told  of  their  flight. 

"  You  are  more  tender-hearted  than  Miss  Bar 
bara." 

"No,  but  I  could  not  bear  that  those  two 
glorious  creatures  should  be  put  out  of  the  warm 
sunlight  which  they  love  so  well." 

"  Miss  Barbara  is  an  excellent  shot ;  she  could 
have  killed  the  stag  from  this  point." 

"And  yet  Barbara  is  really  much  better- 
hearted  than  I,  and  feels  other  people's  troubles 
as  if  they  were  her  own.  Everything  is  in  habit 
and  education ;  she  has  looked  upon  deer  in  the 
light  of  venison,  as  I  have  always  considered 
oxen  in  the  light  of  future  beef.  And  yet,  though 
Barbara  is  so  kind  and  good,  I  do  not  find  her 
sitnpatica  —  how  shall  I  say  ? " 

"You  might  say  sympathetic  or  congenial, 
Miss  Almsford,  if  you  could  content  yourself 
with  the  English  language." 

"  But  it  is  not  the  same  thing,  —  sympathetic 
and  simpatica ;  indeed  it  is  an  untranslatable 
word.  I  cannot  always  express  my  thoughts  in 
English." 

"  Would  you  allow  me  to  suggest  that  it  may 
not  be  entirely  the  fault  of  the  language,  which 
did  not  fail  to  express  the  thoughts  of  Chaucer 
and  Shakspeare,  that  you  find  it  difficult  to 
make  yourself  understood  ? " 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  69 

"  Do  I  speak  it  so  badly  then  ?  You  are  not 
complimentary." 

"  It  is  not  that  you  speak  it  badly,  but  that 
your  vocabulary  is  limited,  and  that  your  mind 
far  outruns  its  limits.  I  fancy  you  have  never 
read  or  thought  much  in  a  serious  vein  in  the 
simplest  and  the  strongest  of  tongues." 

"  No,  I  have  read  very  little  English,  but  I 
challenge  your  last  statement.  I  do  not  find 
English  the  greatest  language.  It  is  coarse  by 
the  side  of  French  ;  it  is  prosaic  compared  to 
Italian.  Think  of  the  fine  distinctions,  the  deli 
cate  shades  of  meaning,  of  the  Gallic  tongue. 
Your  English  can  only  express  the  extremes." 

"And  yet  to-day  it  is  more  a  lender  than  a 
borrower  of  words.  You  cannot  take  up  a  Ger 
man  or  a  French  newspaper  without  finding  an 
Anglicism  in  every  column." 

"What  does  that  prove?  Merely  that  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race  is  more  restless  than  all 
others.  They  are,  the  Goths  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  and  invade  every  corner  of  Europe, 
Asia,  and  Africa,  carrying  with  them  their  bar 
barous  language.  I  have  heard  it  intermingled 
with  Arabic  in  the  Syrian  desert.  It  is  small 
wonder  they  feel  the  need  of  travel ;  there  is 
little  enough  to  interest  them  at  home." 

"And  yet  I,  who  have  lived  half  my  life  in 
Europe,  elect  to  pass  the  remainder  of  it  in  this 


70  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

country  of  my  own  free  choice.  How  do  you 
account  for  that  ? " 

"  I  cannot  account  for  it  save  as  an  aberration 
of  the  brain.  It  is  strange,  too,  for  you  Ameri 
cans  are  not  a  patriotic  people." 

"  You  think  not  ? " 

"  It  does  not  strike  me  so." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Miss  Almsford  ;  but  your 
mistake  is  a  natural  one.  These  ideas,  believe 
me,  are  not  worthy  of  you,  and  have  been  derived 
by  you  from  some  perverted  mind.  Your  own 
is  too  clear  to  have  formed  such  opinions.  They 
have  been  engrafted  or  inherited.  How  should 
you  really  have  any  idea  but  the  most  chimerical 
one,  of  America  or  Americans  ?  You  have  passed 
your  life  among  a  race  of  people  most  unlike  them, 
and  you  have  been  taught  to  ignore  the  country 
and  the  race  to  which  you  belong.  You  consider 
the  matter  of  your  birth  as  a  misfortune,  and  you 
have  learned  to  look  down  on  your  country,  from 
below.  I  have  had  some  experience  of  life  in 
the  various  American  colonies  in  Europe,  and  I 
think  it  a  great  misfortune  to  be  one  of  those 
expatriated  Americans.  They  are  people  with 
out  a  country.  They  feel  no  responsibility  to 
ward  any  larger  society  than  their  own  small 
household  circle.  Unless  he  is  called  by  the 
exigencies  of  his  profession  to  Europe,  the 
American  European  is  very  apt  to  deteriorate 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  7 1 

greatly.  He  is  in  antagonism  with  the  country 
which  he  has  abandoned,  and  his  foothold  in 
foreign  society  is  too  much  on  tolerance  to  be 
fortunate  in  its  effects  on  his  character." 

By  this  time  the  strong  horses  had  reached 
the  summit  of  the  foot-hill,  and  stood  breathing 
heavily.  The  riders  dropped  their  conversa 
tion,  which  was  drawing  near  to  a  discussion, 
and  Millicent  looked  with  wide  eyes  out  over 
the  grand  scene.  Far  off  stretched  the  line  of 
the  Sierras,  the  mountain  barrier  which  severs 
the  land  of  gold  from  the  surrounding  country. 
The  sky  was  faintly  flushed  with  a  forewarning 
of  the  sunset,  and  a  soft  breeze  rustled  the  tree 
tops,  and  blew  into  their  faces. 

"  Are  you  rewarded  for  the  long  ascent,  maid 
en  from  afar  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Millicent  softly. 

As  they  made  the  steep  descent  together 
Graham  talked,  in  his  strong,  sweet  voice,  of  his 
life  in  the  old  tower,  of  his  work,  of  the  pictures 
he  had  painted,  and  those  which  he  dreamed  of 
making  some  day.  The  self-dependent  and  con 
tained  young  man  was  much  attracted  by  the 
girl  with  the  strange  ideas  and  exquisite  man 
ners.  On  the  night  when  they  had  first  met,  he 
had  been  drawn  towards  her  by  an  attraction 
which  seemed  irresistible.  It  was  not  her  beauty 
nor  her  intelligence  which  so  much  affected  him, 


72  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

as  a  nameless  charm  like  the  warmth  of  a  bright 
fire  on  a  cool  day,  which  seemed  to  wrap  him 
about  with  a  sense  of  comfort.  When  he  left 
her  this  glow  was  still  about  him,  but  as  hours 
passed  it  seemed  to  fade  away  and  leave  him 
strangely  cold.  He  felt  for  the  first  time  how 
desolate  was  his  life ;  and  he  remembered  her  in 
his  lonely  tower  as  a  traveller  in  the  African 
desert  recalls  the  green  oasis  where  his  last 
draught  of  water  has  been  drained.  Yet  some 
times,  when  they  talked  together,  came  a  strange 
antagonism  between  them  like  an  impalpable 
mist,  chilling  the  warmth  which  at  meeting  al 
ways  kindled  in  her  eyes  and  in  his  own  bosom. 
That  the  discordance  came  from  himself  he 
often  felt,  and  yet  he  was  helpless  in  the  face  of 
it.  The  conversation  of  that  afternoon  was  a 
type  of  their  interviews,  which  were  often  marred 
by  discussions  not  far  removed  from  disputes. 
Whose  fault  was  it  ?  Wherein  lay  the  incompati 
bility  ?  Did  it  arise  from  either  of  their  charac 
ters,  or  from  the  circumstances  and  surroundings 
in  which  they  met  ?  He  asked  himself  the 
question  a  score  of  times  and  left  it  always 
unanswered.  Graham  had  not  been  without  ex 
perience  of  women.  In  his  early  youth  he  had 
had  the  misfortune  to  fall  deeply  in  love  with  a 
frivolous  and  heartless  girl.  His  nature  was  of 
a  complex  character,  passionate  to  an  unusual 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  73 

degree,  yet  guided  by  an  intelligence  stronger 
than  passion.  He  had  been  deceived  and  out 
raged  in  every  feeling  by  the  heartless  coquette, 
whose  worst  characteristic  was  her  entire  inca 
pacity  for  affection.  After  breaking  her  faith 
with  him,  she  had  tried  to  win  him  back  again, 
and  had  sued  for  the  love  which  she  had  so 
lightly  won  and  refused.  But  though  he  still 
loved  her  with  the  full  force  of  his  being,  he  had 
repulsed  the  woman  whom  he  could  no  longer 
respect.  Then  came  the  long  death-agony  of 
deceived  love,  leaving  its  unmistakable  traces  on 
heart  and  brain  and  body.  It  was  graven  on 
the  white  brow;  it  was  painted  in  the  deep  eyes, 
with  their  unfathomable  look  of  doubt  ;  it 
strengthened  the  fibres  of  the  strong  brain  with 
the  greater  power  which  great  suffering  brings 
to  intelligence  of  a  high  order ;  and  alas !  saddest 
of  all,  it  chilled  the  hot  heart-blood  and  left  it 
cooler  and  more  sluggish  in  its  flow.  Sorrowful 
was  the  man  for  the  sorrow  in  the  world,  but 
pity  for  the  grief  of  those  about  him  was  not  so 
strong  in  him  as  it  had  been  before.  The  bitter 
ness  which  follows  the  spoiling  of  the  rose- 
sweetness  of  love  was  happily  modified  by  the 
broad  humanitarian  character  of  the  man.  It 
failed  to  make  him  bitter  towards  the  world  for 
its  treatment  of  himself.  He  accepted  manfully 
the  knockdown  blow  which  fate  had  dealt  him  ; 


74  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

and  if  he  mourned  it  was  in  secret, —  he  burdened 
no  other  soul  with  his  misery.  But  as  it  was  a 
woman  who  had  darkened  his  life  and  drawn  the 
veil  of  grief  about  his  young  soul,  the  whole  rage 
of  grief  and  bitterness  which  wore  his  heart  went 
out  toward  her  sex.  As  he  had  loved  all  women 
for  her  sweet  sake,  so  now  did  he  distrust  them 
all  because  she  had  proved  false.  Evil  to  him 
appeared  abstractly  as  a  feminine  element  in  the 
world  ;  and  the  great  qualities  of  nobility,  abne 
gation,  and  heroism  in  his  eyes  were  masculine 
attributes  only.  Too  chivalrous  by  nature  to 
think  of  himself  as  in  opposition  to  the  gentler 
sex,  his  position  was  in  point  of  fact  antagonistic 
to  them.  He  was  courteous  in  their  company, 
but  he  always  avoided  it.  In  deed,  as  in  word, 
he  treated  them  with  reverence,  speaking  no 
lightlier  of  them  behind  their  backs  than  to 
their  faces.  The  bitterness  never  broke  the  bar 
riers  of  his  vexed  heart  in  noxious  word  or  jest, 
but  it  lay  there  always  embittering  his  life.  He 
had  finally  ceased  to  remember  his  crushed 
hopes  and  spoiled  youth ;  and  then  had  succeeded 
a  long  time  wherein  he  seemed  to  feel  not  at  all. 
There  was  left  him  always  his  pious  devotion  to 
his  mother,  touching  in  its  pathetic  constancy, 
as  to  the  one  creature  given  him  to  love.  For 
the  gentle  Mrs.  Deering,  whose  face  recalled  that 
of  his  only  living  parent,  he  felt  a  real  sentiment 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  ?$ 

of  friendship.  Barbara,  with  her  sweet,  whole 
some  nature,  he  esteemed  more  highly  than 
other  young  women  ;  but  since  his  intimacy  with 
the  family  he  had  always  emphasized  his  regard 
for  the  son  and  mother  of  the  house ;  and  Bar 
bara  had  felt  the  difference  in  his  voice  when  he 
addressed  her.  It  grew  colder,  and  his  manner 
became  formal,  if  by  chance  they  were  thrown 
together  alone. 

The  charm  by  which  Millicent  swayed  him, 
he  said  to  himself,  was  not  love.  He  looked 
back  into  the  black  and  stormy  past,  and  com 
pared  his  feelings  for  this  girl  with  those  which 
had  once  torn  his  breast.  She  charmed  him, 
but  he  surely  did  not  love  her.  He  felt  a  sense 
of  cold  discomfort  on  leaving  her,  but  it  was 
very  different  from  the  passionate  grief  which 
he  once  had  suffered.  This  was  what  he 
thought  when  he  contemplated  the  subject  at 
all,  which  was  not  very  often.  For  the  most 
part  he  let  himself  drift  down  the  pleasant  sum 
mer  tide.  Skies  were  blue  and  roses  sweet.  If 
Millicent  made  the  sky  seem  bluer,  if  the  roses 
took  on  a  more  perfect  hue  when  she  wore  them 
in  her  bosom,  it  was  because  she  was  like  the 
skies  and  roses,  tender  and  full  of  warmth  and 
color.  Did  not  the  buds  blush  into  flowers  for 
all  the  world  as  well  as  for  him  ?  Did  not  the 
white  clouds  dip  and  dance  across  the  sky  for 


76  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

other  men's  pleasure  as  well  as  his  own  ?  Was 
not  the  whole  small  world  of  the  San  Rosario 
Ranch  made  more  blithe  and  happily  alive  by 
the  advent  of  Millicent  Almsford,  the  maiden 
from  afar  ?  Barbara  had  been  stimulated  by 
the  new  atmosphere  to  do  more  thinking,  and 
had  found  less  time  for  fancy-work  and  more 
leisure  for  reading.  Mrs.  Deering,  gentlest  of 
women,  found  a  companionship  in  the  stranger 
which  she  had  at  first  thought  impossible  ;  and 
Hal,  poor  Hal,  was  vainly  fighting  against  the 
witching  spell  which  was  fast  making  him  the 
slave  of  the  girl,  who  he  had  prophesied  was 
too  cold  to  interest  him. 

Had  Graham  known  the  change  which  his 
companionship  had  wrought  upon  Millicent,  he 
would  have  felt  that  if  there  was  no  danger  for 
him  in  those  swift  fleeting  hours  passed  to 
gether,  there  might  be  for  her.  The  boredom 
which  she  had  experienced  at  first  was  now 
dissipated,  and  every  phase  of  the  novel  life  at 
the  Ranch  had  a  charm  for  her. 

The  loud  summons  of  the  supper-bell  struck 
the  ears  of  the  young  people  as  they  drew  near 
the  house ;  and  the  family  stood  waiting  on  the 
piazza,  as  they  reined  in  their  horses  before  the 
door. 

"  Are  you  tired,  Millicent  ? "  was  the  anxious 
question  of  Mrs.  Deering. 


SAN  EOSAEIO  RANCH.  77 

"  Did  you  get  a  clear  view  of  the  mountains  ? " 
asked  Barbara. 

"  How  did  Sphinx  go  ?  "  said  Hal. 

"  I  cannot  answer  you  all  at  once,"  cried  Milli- 
cent,  breathless  from  the  rapid  gallop  which  had 
brought  them  to  the  house ;  "  but  it  was  perfectly 
delightful.  Sphinx  behaved  ^beautifully,  and  Mr. 
Graham  almost  as  well.  The  view  is  wonderful, 
and  I  think  the  country  of  California  very  fine. 
There  is  a  compliment  for  you  all  ;  do  not  pre 
tend  I  never  say  anything  nice  about  it." 

"  My  dear,  we  have  an  invitation  to  go  down 
to  San  Real  to  visit  the  Shallops.  Mamma 
thinks  we  had  better  start  to-morrow.  Mr. 
Graham,  here  is  a  note  for  you  which  came  en 
closed  in  my  letter.  I  fancy  it  carries  the  same 
invitation  to  you.  It  will  be  so  nice  at  the  sea 
shore.  You  will  like  it,  Millicent,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  like  it  here,"  Millicent  answered,  as  she 
walked  slowly  up  the  steps  ;  "  but  if  you  all  want 
to  go,  I  am  willing.  Who  are  the  Shallops  ? 
Where  is  San  Real  ? " 

Graham  had  torn  open  his  letter,  which  he 
quickly  perused.  Millicent  looked  inquiringly 
at  him,  and  he  answered  her  unspoken  query : 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Shallop  asks  me  to  join  your 
party  for  a  week  at  her  pleasant  house.  Very 
kind  of  her,  I  am  sure  •  but  I  never  do  that  sort 
of  thing.  I — " 


78  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  Now,  Graham,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Deering, 
"  say  nothing  about  it  till  I  have  talked  it  over 
with  you.  I  have  a  particular  reason  for  advis 
ing  you  to  go.  We  will  telegraph  the  answer 
in  the  morning,  and  can  make  up  our  minds  in 
the  course  of  the  evening." 

"  I  am  yours  to  command  in  this  and  all 
things,  Madame,"  said  Graham,  offering  his  arm 
to  his  hostess ;  "  and  there  stands  Ah  Lam  ready 
to  weep  because  the  muffins  are  growing  cold ; 
and  I  am  famously  hungry  after  our  ride." 

Tea  being  ended,  Mrs.  Deering  and  Graham 
paced  the  gravel  path  around  the  house  for  half 
an  hour.  It  was  evident  to  the  group  on  the 
piazza  that  a  discussion  was  going  on  between 
them.  They  spoke  in  low,  earnest  voices,  whose 
tones  did  not  escape  Millicent's  sensitive  hear 
ing,  though  she  failed  to  catch  the  import  of 
the  words. 

)     "  For  my  sake,"  she  finally  heard  Mrs.  Deer 
ing  say  in  a  pleading  voice. 

"  Dear  my  lady,  is  it  just  to  put  it  on  that 
ground  ? " 

"  But  if  you  will  hear  to  it  on  no  other," 
she  argued. 

"  Think  what  it  is  you  ask  of  me.  To  leave 
my  tower  and  my  man  Friday  for  a  luxurious 
household  with  plethoric  master  and  servants  ; 
to  stagnate  for  a  week  among  those  ridiculous 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  79 

people  who  fill  San  Real  in  the  summer ;  and 
all  this  not  because  it  will  do  me  or  any  one  else 
any  good,  but  to  the  end  that  I  may  begin  the 
portraits  I  have  already  refused  to  paint.  You 
know  that  I  am  not  suited  to  that  sort  of  hack 
work.  How  can  I  make  a  picture  of  that  over 
fed  Shallop  or  his  pinched,  good  little  wife  ? " 

"  But  our  work  cannot  all  be  that  which  is 
best  suited  to  us  —  " 

"  It  should  be  —  " 

"  Remember,  Graham,  that  in  three  weeks  the 
payment  for  the  studio  is  due  —  " 

"  Ah,  kindest  one  !  you  never  forget  me  ;  bless 
you  for  your  sweetness  and  thoughtfulness. 
Yes,  I  will  go  and  do  my  best  to  make  Shallop 
look  like  something  other  than  an  ex-blacksmith, 
but  it  is  indeed  bitter." 

"  You  will  find  that  there  will  be  compensa 
tions,"  said  Mrs.  Deering,  her  eyes  resting  on 
the  pretty  group  on  the  piazza :  Barbara  sitting 
at  Millicent's  feet,  and  Hal  reaching  up  to  pluck 
a  spray  of  honeysuckles  for  her  hair. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Where  have  we  lived  and  loved  before  this,  sweet  ? 
My  will  ere  now  hath  led  thy  wayward  feet ; 
I  knew  thy  beauties  —  limbs,  lips,  brows,  and  hair  — 
Before  these  eyes  beheld  and  found  thee  fair. 

MRS.  DEERING'S  arguments  carried  the  day, 
and  Graham  decided  to  accompany  the  young 
ladies  to  San  Real.  Ferrara  was  to  be  of  the 
party.  It  was  a  bright  morning  which  saw 
the  departure  of  the  three  travellers  from  the 
Ranch.  Hal  drove  them  to  the  station  in  a  very 
disconsolate  frame  of  mind.  During  Ralph  Alms- 
ford's  long  absences,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
leave  the  Ranch,  in  which  his  interests  were  all 
vested ;  and  it  seemed  rather  hard  that  Graham 
should  enjoy  the  pleasure  which  he  had  been 
obliged  to  decline.  Henry  Deering  was  a  suscep 
tible  young  man,  and  he  was  already  enthralled 
by  the  soft  voice  and  deep  eyes  of  the  girl  on 
whom  he  had  bestowed  the  title  of  Princess. 
His  friendship  for  John  Graham  was  one  of  the 
strongest  feelings  he  had  ever  known.  He  admired 
him  more  than  any  person  he  knew.  He  re 
spected  the  sterling  character  of  the  man,  on 
whose  honor  he  would  have  staked  his  life ;  and 
yet  it  was  hard  that  Graham  should  devote  him- 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  8 1 

self  to  the  Princess,  for  he  said  to  himself  there 
could  be  no  chance  for  him  against  such  a  rival. 

The  country  through  which  the  railroad  from 
San  Rosario  to  San  Real  passes  is  most  pictur 
esque.  Round  the  high  hills  winds  the  yellow 
line  of  the  track,  making  horseshoe  loops,  so 
that  the  engine,  Millicent  said,  sometimes  turned 
round  and  looked  the  passengers  in  the  face. 
Long,  high  bridges  carry  the  shining  steel 
threads  of  travel  over  deep  canyons,  with  fierce 
rocky  sides  and  stony  bottoms.  The  scenery  is 
very  wild  and  beautiful,  and  the  moderate  pace 
afc  which  the  shaky  little  engine  tugged  along 
the  rickety  cars  gave  the  travellers  every  oppor 
tunity  for  seeing  and  admiring  the  view. 

A  great  mountain,  lying  among  the  low  foot 
hills,  remained  in  view  through  the  greater  part 
of  the  route  ;  it  was  conical  and  sharp-pointed, 
like  the  typical  mountain  of  the  atlas.  A  great 
fire  had  lately  raged  for  days  among  the  spread 
ing  trees  and  thick  undergrowth ;  and  now  that 
the  smoke  had  cleared  away,  the  path  which 
the  flame  had  taken  was  distinctly  visible  from 
certain  points.  A  great  cross  lay  stamped  on  the 
mountain-side,  for  all  men  to  see.  The  baptism 
of  fire  had  left  the  symbol  which  was  sanctified 
eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  Graham  attracted 
Millicent's  attention  to  this,  which,  she  said, 
would  have  been  considered  a  miracle  in  Italy. 
6 


82  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"Are  they  not  happy,  those  dear  simple- 
minded  Italians  ?  A  large  portion  of  them  do 
really  believe  in  miracles  to  this  day."  Milli- 
cent  was  the  speaker. 

"  Yes,  far  happier  than  those  of  us  who  have 
lost  all  belief  in  anything  beyond  our  own  bodies, 
and  the  facts  which  that  body's  senses  reveal  to 
us." 

"And  you  believe  —  " 

"  Ask  me  not,  maiden,  what  I  believe.  I 
can  only  hope.  But  this  I  know,  that  there  is 
need  to  you  and  to  me,  to  all  of  us  of  this 
generation,  to  whom  the  old  fallacious  dogmas 
of  dead  creeds  are  meaningless,  of  faith.  This 
is  not  the  age  of  belief.  The  things  which  have 
been  considered  necessary  draperies  to  religion 
are  stripped  off;  but  because  truth  is  naked,  it 
is  none  the  less  truth.  Faith  in  that  part  of 
ourselves  which  is  not  of  earth,  we  must  hold 
fast  to,  when  all  else  is  rent  from  our  feeble 
natures." 

"  You  should  be  a  preacher.  I  think  that 
you  have  got  the  right  end  of  the  truth,  per 
haps—" 

Barbara,  who  had  sat  a  silent  listener  to  this 
conversation  between  the  two  young  people, 
now  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  know  little  of  the  modern  scientific  theo 
ries,  which  Mr.  Graham  thinks  have  stripped  re- 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  83 

ligion  of  much  that  used  to  belong  to  it ;  but  to 
me  the  denial  of  a  Creator  is  the  most  illogical 
and  ignorant  act  of  which  the  human  mind  is 
capable.  Look  at  that  house  we  are  just  pass 
ing.  If  I  should  tell  you  that  it  never  was  built, 
that  no  architect  or  workman  ever  planned  and 
executed  its  design,  you  would  say  that  my  talk 
was  too  idle  to  require  contradiction.  And  yet 
you  will  tell  me  that  the  pleasant  earth  on 
which  the  house  stands,  the  very  trees  which  fur 
nished  its  wood,  the  metals  and  stone  which  are 
wrought  into  it,  exist,  and  yet  knew  no  Maker." 

"  Barbara,  do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it ; 
it  is  impossible  for  you  and  me  to  speak  under- 
standingly  to  each  other  on  these  subjects.  Mr. 
Graham  stands  midway  between  your  conven 
tional  faith  and  my  unbelief;  he  can  understand 
us  both.  Now  let  us  talk  about  love  and  roses." 

"  Apropos  of  love  and  roses,  here  comes  Fer- 
rara,  laden  with  both  of  those  fragile  commodities, 
which  he  will  straightway  lay  at  Miss  Barbara's 
feet.  If  you  like,  Miss  Almsford,  we  will  make 
the  next  stage  of  our  journey  on  the  engine.  I 
spoke  to  the  engineer,  at  the  last  station,  of  your 
desire  to  see  the  mechanism  of  his  locomo 
tive.  You  will  find  the  man  quite  clean  and 
intelligent." 

Ferrara  joined  the  party  at  this  moment,  hav 
ing  come  up  to  meet  the  train  at  this  station. 


84  SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH. 

He  carried  a  handful  of  great  yellow  roses, 
which  he  presented  to  Barbara  with  a  low  bow. 
The  girl  looked  beseechingly  at  Millicent,  who 
laughed  rather  heartlessly,  and,  escorted  by 
Graham,  proceeded  to  the  engine.  She  was 
pleasantly  received  by  its  presiding  genius,  a 
hatchet-faced,  sharp-voiced  Yankee,  who  made 
a  place  for  her  on  his  little  cushioned  seat  at 
one  side  of  the  locomotive.  As  soon  as  she 
was  comfortably  ensconced  here,  Graham  sitting 
at  her  feet,  the  engineer  rang  the  bell  and  al 
lowed  Millicent  to  pull  the  lever,  which  set  the 
panting  creature  of  iron  and  wood  a-screaming. 
With  a  guttural  shriek  the  engine  pulled  itself 
together  and  started  off  down  the  track  at  a 
good  speed.  Once  in  motion,  the  breeze,  blow 
ing  through  the  windows,  cooled  the  intense 
heat.  Millicent  looked  straight  down  the  nar 
rowing  steel  rails  with  that  keen  sense  of  pleasure 
which  every  novel  experience  gave  her.  Pres 
ently  she  asked  the  small  Yankee  to  explain 
the  use  of  the  steam  gauge  and  of  the  various 
appliances  crowded  into  the  small  space  where 
she  sat.  The  fireman,  a  hideous  giant,  black 
and  grimy,  occasionally  opened  a  door  and  fed 
the  furious  fire  with  great  lumps  of  coal.  When 
it  was  well  filled  he  varied  his  occupation  by 
watering  the  wooden  parts  of  the  engine  with  a 
long  rubber  hose,  lest  they  should  ignite  from 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  85 

the  great  heat.  On  a  little  shelf  above  her  seat 
Millicent  espied  a  book,  toward  which  she  in 
stinctively  stretched  her  hand.  Books  always 
acted  on  Millicent  like  magnets.  The  volume 
proved  to  be  a  Life  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  lately 
published  in  a  cheap  edition.  She  asked  the 
sharp-faced  engineer  if  he  found  the  matter 
interesting,  and  was  somewhat  astonished  by  his 
astute  remarks  on  the  work  and  the  personage 
of  whom  it  treated.  She  looked  at  Graham  in 
some  astonishment,  but  he  seemed  in  no-wise 
surprised  at  the  phenomenon  of  a  working-man 
in  a  blue  blouse  who  could  intelligently  read 
and  understand  the  seriously  written  biography 
of  the  great  conqueror.  The  steam  gauge  rose 
higher  and  higher,  while  the  engine  tore  along 
at  a  quicker  speed  in  order  to  please  the 
delicate  visitor,  who  was  now  allowed  to  move 
the  lever,  and  to  pull  the  bell  when  they  passed 
the  signals  requiring  them  to  do  so.  The 
engineer  was  an  interesting  person,  Millicent 
thought ;  he  told  her  many  humorous  stories  of 
his  experiences,  and  some  tragical  ones.  His 
wife  had  on  one  occasion  accompanied  him  on 
a  trip,  sitting  on  the  very  place  where  Millicent 
now  reposed.  An  accident  had  occurred,  a 
broken  rail  throwing  the  cars  down  a  high  em 
bankment,  while  the  weight  of  the  engine  had 
saved  them  both  from  the  terrible  fate  of  many 


86  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

of  the  passengers.  From  that  day  his  wife  had 
refused  ever  to  travel  in  any  part  of  the  train 
save  in  the  small  cabin  where  her  husband  sat. 
In  a  collision,  Millicent  learned,  the  dread  fate 
of  the  engineer  could  only  be  avoided  by  deser 
tion  of  his  post ;  and  the  speaker  bore  witness  to 
the  steadfast  bravery  of  more  than  one  of  his 
mates  who  had  preferred  death  to  such  an  act. 
As  he  talked  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  two 
shining  rails  stretching  before  them.  Some 
times,  when  interested  in  his  own  story,  or  their 
remarks,  the  engineer  would  look  for  a  moment 
into  Millicent's  face;  and  she,  with  a  terrified 
consciousness  that  her  eyes  were  the  only  ones 
which  could  see  any  obstruction  before  the  train 
thundering  along  at  a  great  speed,  would  strain 
her  vision  to  the  utmost  down  the  narrowing 
line  of  track.  What  an  awful  responsibility  lay 
upon  the  shoulders  of  this  cheerful  little  man, 
with  his  twinkling  gimlet  blue  eyes,  and  how 
lightly  he  seemed  to  carry  his  burden.  She 
grew  quite  white  and  silent  at  the  thought ;  and 
when  her  hand,  guided  by  the  engineer,  brought 
the  panting  locomotive  to  a  standstill  at  the 
next  station,  she  gladly  stepped  down  upon  the 
narrow  platform,  steadied  by  Graham's  arm. 
They  parted  from  the  engineer  with  many  ex 
pressions  of  pleasure  for  the  ride  they  had  en 
joyed,  and  joined  Barbara  and  Ferrara  in  the  car. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  87 

San  Real  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  sea-side 
towns  to  be  found  on  the  coast  of  California. 
It  has  become  quite  lately  a  fashionable  summer 
resort,  and  boasts  two  large  hotels,  a  colony  of 
boarding-houses,  and  half  a  dozen  private  resi 
dences.  All  of  these  are  of  modest  dimensions, 
with  the  single  exception  of  the  pretentious  man 
sion  of  Mr.  Patrick  Shallop,  which  stands  at  the 
distance  of  a  mile  from  the  little  village  com 
posed  of  one  long  street  of  shops  and  saloons. 

At  the  station  the  party  found  a  handsome 
carriage  awaiting  them,  drawn  by  two  prancing 
gray  horses  and  decorated  with  sprawling  coats- 
of-arms.  The  groom  and  driver  were  dressed 
according  to  the  latest  English  fashion,  and  the 
tidy  cart  for  the  luggage  was  driven  by  a  liveried 
menial.  Millicent  noted  these  details  with  sur 
prise  as  she  sank  back  on  the  satin  cushions  of 
the  landau,  and  Graham  laughingly  commented 
upon  her  evident  astonishment  at  the  smart 
equipage. 

"  It  appears,  O  fair  Venetian,  that  you  are 
surprised  at  this  grandeur.  Did  not  Miss  Bar 
bara  prepare  you  for  it?  " 

"No,"  answered  the  young  woman  quietly; 
she  did  not  like  to  be  laughed  at.  As  the  car 
riage  rolled  along  the  village  street,  Millicent 
gave  a  little  cry  of  joy :  "  I  smell  the  sea ! " 
she  cried. 


88  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

Soon  after  they  emerged  from  the  shadow  of 
the  houses  and  struck  the  road  which  led  to  the 
brow  of  the  cliffs.  There,  for  the  first  time  since 
she  had  left  New  York,  Millicent  looked  out 
over  the  salt  waves.  The  cool  sea  breeze  twisted 
the  curls  which  clustered  about  her  forehead 
into  tighter  rings,  and  fanned  a  color  into  her 
marble  cheek.  She  kissed  her  hand  toward  the 
great  gray  ocean  as  if  gladly  greeting  the  Pacific. 
Below  the  cliffs  stretched  the  white  beach,  with 
its  rows  of  bathing-houses,  and  booths  hung 
with  gay-colored  wares.  They  had  but  time  to 
glance  at  the  view  when  the  carriage  turned 
from  the  road  and  entered  a  long  avenue  bor 
dered  with  good-sized  trees.  Marble  statues 
gleamed  through  the  dark  green  of  the  luxu 
riant  gardens,  and  odorous  flowers  made  the  air 
heavy  with  sweetness.  Before  the  door  of  an 
enormous  house  the  horses  were  drawn  up,  and 
Barbara  and  Millicent,  followed  by  Graham  and 
Ferrara,  entered  the  wide  hall.  The  exterior  of 
the  house  was  far  from  attractive.  The  material 
used  was  exclusively  wood,  which  in  California 
is  almost  universally  employed  in  private  dwell 
ings.  The  fear  of  earthquakes  always  lurks  in 
the  mind  of  the  Californian,  and  houses  of  brick 
or  stone  are  very  rare.  The  model  adopted  by 
the  architect  was  a  novel  one,  and  seemed  a 
combination  of  the  Ionic,  Corinthian,  and  Queen 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  89 

Anne  styles.  Stucco  and  lath  represented  deco 
rations  and  columns  which  would  have  been 
appropriate  in  marble  or  granite.  The  massive 
style  and  the  flimsy  material  gave  an  incon 
gruous  appearance  to  the  great  building.  The 
wide  terrace  which  surrounded  the  house,  with 
its  bright  parterres  of  flowers,  and  the  pleasant 
piazza,  with  roof  and  pillars  like  a  Norman  clois 
ter,  were,  however,  wonderfully  attractive.  Be 
yond  the  close-clipped  emerald  lawn  was  seen 
the  ocean,  whose  white  curling  waves  danced 
merrily  in  the  unbroken  sunshine. 

The  guests  found  Mrs.  Shallop  awaiting  them 
in  a  long  dim  drawing-room.  She  was  a  skimpy 
pattern  of  feminality,  with  a  pitiful,  pinched  face, 
great  sad-looking  eyes,  colorless,  sandy  hair,  and 
a  thin,  angular  body.  Though  it  was  early  in 
the  afternoon,  the  elegance  of  her  dress  would 
have  been  suitable  to  a  ball  room.  The  heavy 
folds  of  rich  blue  brocade  stood  out  from  the 
poor  little  figure  whose  emaciated  lines  its  rich 
fabric  refused  to  indicate.  She  advanced 
toward  her  guests  with  something  of  an  effort, 
as  if  the  burden  of  dress  which  was  laid  upon 
her  were  greater  than  she  could  bear.  Her 
welcome  was,  however,  very  cordial;  and  her 
bony  little  hands,  with  their  weight  of  jewels, 
clasped  Barbara's  strong  fingers  affectionately. 

"  I   am  real   glad  you  have  all    come,   Miss 


go  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

Deering.  I  was  awful  fidgety  about  the  train's 
being  late.  Miss  Almsford,  I  am  real  pleased 
to  see  you.  Mister  Graham,  happy  to  see 
you,  sir.  I  hope  your  health  is  better,  Mistre 
Ferrara?" 

Each  of  the  guests  acknowledged  the  kindly 
greeting,  and  some  general  conversation  ensued. 
Millicent  looked  about  the  great  drawing-room, 
noting  the  various  beautiful  articles  of  furniture, 
the  Venetian  glasses,  the  pictures  and  rich  em 
broideries,  the  thousand-and-one  bits  of  bric-h- 
brac  which  decorated  the  walls  and  cabinets  of 
the  lofty  apartment.  It  was  in  truth  a  rarely 
beautiful  room,  the  prevailing  color  a  deep,  soft 
crimson,  the  wood-work  all  painted  white  and 
delicately  carved.  Below  the  ceiling  ran  a  frieze, 
the  work  of  John  Graham.  The  subject  treated 
was  the  history  of  Cupid  and  Psyche.  The 
scenes  were  divided  into  panels  by  twining 
sprays  of  rose-vines  charmingly  treated.  The 
first  represented  the  meeting  of  the  two  lovers, 
their  marriage  being  the  next  in  order.  In  the 
third  compartment  the  doubting  Psyche  looks 
for  the  first  time  on  the  radiant  beauty  of  the 
sleeping  God.  Next  the  artist  had  portrayed  the 
forsaken,  love-lorn  bride  sitting  alone,  crushed 
with  grief,  repenting  the  fatal  curiosity  which 
prompted  her  to  peer  too  closely  into  the  na 
ture  of  love,  —  that  greatest  of  boons,  which 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  gi 

should  be  accepted  joyously  and  with  thanks 
giving,  and  to  which  doubt  means  death.  The 
hard  services  required  by  Cytherea  from  the 
desolate  Psyche  were  exquisitely  rendered ;  and 
the  final  scene  of  the  reunion  of  the  two  lovers 
was  the  masterpiece  of  the  whole  work.  Psyche, 
radiant  with  new-found  love  and  joy,  her  face 
touched  with  a  more  than  mortal  beauty  by  the 
grief  she  has  endured,  stands  looking  reverently 
into  the  face  of  the  strongest  of  gods.  Her 
rainbow  wings  can  lift  her  now,  to  soar  beside 
her  lover,  even  to  Olympus. 

Millicent  admired  the  beautiful  frieze,  which 
the  hostess  confessed  troubled  her  sorely  be 
cause  of  the  scanty  raiment  which  she  said 
seemed  to  have  been  the  fashion  of  the  time  it 
represented. 

"  Mister  Graham,"  she  explained,  had  induced 
her  to  keep  it  in  the  place  for  which  it  had  been 
designed.  Mrs.  Shallop  added  that  the  artist 
had  refused  to  follow  her  suggestion  of  adding 
clothing  to  the  half  nude  bodies;  and  had, 
moreover,  extracted  a  promise  from  her  hus 
band  that  he  would  never  allow  any  other 
painter  to  be  intrusted  with  thus  supplementing 
the  airy  rainbow  draperies  of  the  figures. 

Miss  Almsford  was  much  astonished  at  the 
very  beautiful  interior  of  the  great  Shallop 
house,  and  soon  learned  that  its  furnishing  and 


Q2  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

decoration  had  been  intrusted  to  Graham,  who 
was  gifted  with  that  rarest  and  most  valuable  of 
aesthetic  qualities,  a  perfect  and  original  taste. 

"  It  is  the  only  house  Mr.  Graham  has  ever 
arranged,  and  he  says  he  will  never  do  another. 
He  was  in  Europe  while  it  was  being  built,  and 
mamma  persuaded  the  Shallops  to  give  him 
carte  blanche  to  buy  all  the  beautiful  things  he 
could  lay  hands  upon,"  Barbara  explained. 

The  guests  were  shown  to  their  rooms  by  the 
hostess,  and  Millicent  gave  an  exclamation  of 
delight  on  entering  the  apartment  allotted  to 
her.  It  was  indeed  a  unique  room.  The  walls 
were  panelled  in  ebony  to  a  third  of  their  height, 
a  bright  light  pattern  in  flowers  running  to 
the  ceiling,  and  relieving  what  might  other 
wise  have  been  sombre.  The  glossy  black  wood 
was  carved  into  a  wide,  high  fireplace,  where  two 
brass  andirons,  curiously  wrought  with  twisted 
dragons,  supported  a  fire  whose  bright  blaze 
was  most  welcome  to  Millicent.  She  found  the 
season  very  cold  compared  to  the  still,  hot  Italian 
summers.  Below  the  mantel  the  fire  shone  out 
in  welcome,  but  above  the  ebony  shelf,  set  in 
the  wall,  was  a  picture  which  seemed  fuller  of 
light  and  color  than  the  leaping  flames.  A  Ve 
netian  scene  with  a  terrace  whereon  sat  men 
and  maidens  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  sunset, 
looking  out  over  a  stretch  of  many-toned  water, 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  93 

in  which  were  mirrored  sky  and  clouds,  trees, 
draperies,  and  graceful  human  figures.  A  black 
gondola,  partly  shown  in  the  foreground,  might 
have  held  the  painter  while  he  sketched  the 
brilliant  scene. 

"  It  is  my  Venice  !  "  cried  Millicent,  "  it  is  my 
home  ! "  Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She  caught 
Barbara  by  the  arm  and  rapidly  described  to 
her  the  point  from  which  the  picture  had  been 
painted. 

"  Mr.  Graham  will  be  very  much  pleased  that 
you  recognized  the  spot." 

"  Is  it  his  picture?  Yes,  I  ought  to  have 
known  it." 

"Why,  are  you  clairvoyant?" 

"  Yes,  Barbara,  sometimes." 

Millicent  seemed  somewhat  disconcerted  at 
what  she  had  said ;  and,  without  noticing  any 
thing  more  in  the  pretty  room,  ascended  the 
dainty  little  ebon  staircase  with  its  fanciful  rail, 
and,  pushing  back  a  panel  which  slid  into  the 
wall,  entered  her  bedroom.  Later,  when  both 
of  the  girls  had  exchanged  their  travelling 
dresses,  Barbara  knocked  at  Millicent's  boudoir. 

"  Entrate"  was  the  response,  in  obedience  to 
which  she  opened  the  door,  and  found  Millicent 
lying  on  the  low,  crescent-shaped  sofa,  her  fair 
head  resting  on  a  pile  of  cushions.  Her  grace 
ful  figure  was  clad  in  a  gown  soft  amber  in 


94  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

color,  her  only  ornaments  wonderful  strings  of 
amber  beads  falling  over  the  white  neck,  which 
the  fashion  of  the  frock  disclosed,  and  encircling 
the  smooth  bare  arms,  with  their  delicate  tracery 
of  blue  veins  like  the  lines  in  purest  marble. 
Her  hands  were  hidden,  clasped  behind  her 
head,  and  the  expression  of  her  face  was  almost 
vacant  in  its  look  of  absorbing  reverie.  Beside 
her  on  the  floor  lay  a  small  parchment  book, 
ivory-clasped,  —  "The  Sonnets  of  Petrarch." 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  panel  over  the  mantel 
shelf,  but  they  saw  more  than  the  artist  had  pic 
tured  with  brush  and  color:  a  waking  day 
dream  of  her  home  as  she  had  last  seen  it,  and 
ah !  how  much  sweeter  an  imagining  of  how 
she  might  next  see  it,  —  with  what  surroundings, 
with  what  companionship !  O  blessed  dream- 
castles  of  women,  in  which  all  the  cares  and 
privations  of  life  are  forgotten ;  in  which  there  is 
never  a  weariness  or  a  pain ;  where  lonely  watch 
ing  is  succeeded  by  joyous  reunion ;  where  those 
who  have  lived  and  know  too  surely  that  they 
must  die  without  that  greatest  happiness  which 
life  can  hold,  drink  the  cup  of  joy  innocently, 
purely,  fearing  no  bitter  after-taste,  finding  no 
foul  dregs ! 

At  Barbara's  entrance  Millicent  slowly  drew 
herself  back  from  dreamland  into  the  actual  pres 
ent.  Her  eyes,  which  had  been  staring  widely 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  95 

with  a  blank  look,  now  seemed  to  change  color 
with  returning  consciousness.  It  was  a  long 
journey,  and  she  gave  a  deep  sigh  when  it  was 
accomplished,  and  she  realized  that  plump, 
pretty  Barbara,  with  her  best  frock  and  ribbons, 
stood  by  her  side  looking  curiously  in  her  face. 

"  I  was  reading,  and  I  fancy  I  had  fallen  asleep, 
Bab,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Shallop  suggested  our  all  having  tea 
here,  if  you  liked.  They  do  not  dine  till  eight 
to-night.  Mr.  Shallop  has  been  detained  in  San 
Francisco." 

"  Very  well,  dear,  just  as  you  say.  You  did 
not  mean  to  send  for  the  gentlemen?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  this  room  is  always  used  for  a  tea 
room,  unless  you  object,  of  course.  If  you  pre 
fer  to  '  sport  your  oak/  you  have  a  perfect  right 
to  do  so,  and  we  will  go  downstairs." 

"  No,  no,  let  us  have  it  here  by  all  means,  if  it 
is  the  custom." 

Barbara  rang  the  bell,  which  was  answered  by 
a  ponderous  butler  with  a  condescending  man 
ner,  white  neckcloth,  bandy  legs,  and  an  apo 
plectic  countenance.  The  individual  had  been 
imported  by  the  Shallops  along  with  the  foot 
man  and  driver,  his  two  younger  brothers,  who, 
in  common  with  all  the  other  members  of  the 
household,  from  Mr.  Shallop  down  to  the  boots, 
stood  in  awe  of  him.  To  this  worthy  Barbara 


96  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

somewhat  timidly  gave  orders  that  tea  should 
be  brought,  and  the  gentlemen  warned  that  it 
awaited  them. 

"  Very  good,  miss,"  answered  the  functionary 
in  the  driest  possible  tone,  his  features  curled  into 
an  expression  of  scorn  toward  the  whole  human 
race.  His  bow  was  so  terrific  in  its  icy  grandeur 
that  Barbara  shivered  as  he  left  the  room. 

"  I  hate  that  man,  and  he  knows  it.  He 
always  spoils  my  appetite  by  glaring  at  me  all 
through  dinner;  and  I  think  he  takes  an  evil 
delight  in  handing  all  the  most  impossible  dishes 
to  me  first,  which  I  have  to  refuse,  because  I 
don't  dare  to  attack  them." 

The  man  shortly  after  returned  and  laid  a  low 
round  table  in  the  bow-window  for  tea.  Barbara 
placed  herself  behind  the  old-fashioned  silver 
urn  and  busied  herself  with  tea-making,  while 
Millicent  drew  up  the  blinds  and  let  the  sunset 
into  the  room.  Soon  Graham  came  in,  begging 
for  a  cup  of  tea,  a  sure  bait  to  him,  he  said,  es 
pecially  when  Miss  Deering  poured  out  the 
delicious  beverage.  This  last  speech  he  made 
with  an  exaggeratedly  deep  bow,  which  gro- 
tesqued  the  compliment  and  made  the  girl's 
cheek  redden.  Shortly  after,  Ferrara  joined 
the  party,  and  a  pleasant  tea-drinking  ensued, 
though  the  last  comer  refused  to  be  tempted 
by  the  pretty  cups  of  smoking  Souchong. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  97 

"Neither  will'I  reproach  my  luncheon,  nor 
insult  the  excellent  dinner  which  I  am  sure  Mrs. 
Shallop  will  give  us,  by  the  uncivilized  fashion 
of  drinking  tea  at  this  hour." 

"Miss  Almsford  thinks  we  are  too  civilized 
here,  Ferrara.  She  almost  fainted  when  she 
learned  that  I  was  the  possessor  of  a  dress-coat. 
She  hoped  to  find  us  in  eternal  suits  of  corduroy 
and  flannel,  with  top-boots  and  bowie  knives." 

"  You  have  exactly  described  the  costume  in 
which  I  first  saw  you,  Mr.  Graham ;  so  you 
surely  should  not  blame  me  for  believing  that, 
in  wearing  it,  you  followed  the  prevailing  fashion 
of  your  country." 

"  That  alters  the  case ;  but  are  you  not  mis 
taken?  I  remember  having  taken  particular 
care  to  don  a  black  coat  on  that  evening  —  do 
you  remember?  —  when  I  surprised  you  by  the 
fire." 

"  But  I  had  seen  you  before  that,  though  you 
had  never  seen  me." 

"When,  fair  lady?  May  I  hope  that  our 
first  encounter  was  in  your  white  dreams?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head  and  laughed. 

"  Was  it  perhaps  in  another  existence?  Did 
we  dance  together,  you  and  I,  in  the  old  happy 
days  when  Pan  reigned?  Now  I  think  of  it, 
were  you  not  the  wood-nymph  who  vanished 
from  me  into  the  arms  of  a  great  tree?  Did 
7 


98  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

you  not  tread  one  measure  with  me  in  the  merry 
wood-dance,  and  then  leave  me  desolate  with  a 
tryst  appointed  but  never  kept?  " 

"  Did  you  not  soon  find  another  partner?  " 

"  I  waited  long  alone." 

"  And  if  I  could  not  come  sooner?  " 

"  Well,  you  have  come  at  last  to  keep  the 
tryst.  Will  you  finish  that  dance  which  was 
begun  so  many  eons  ago  ? " 

"  Ay  me !  and  can  we  now  dance  the  same 
measure,  you  and  I?  Would  not  our  feet  tread 
inharmonious  steps?" 

"  Which  of  us  can  say?     Shall  we  try?  " 

"  If  you  say  my  word  was  given,  I  know  not 
how  to  break  it." 

The  room  had  grown  dim,  and  Barbara  and 
Ferrara  in  the  recess  of  the  window  were  speak 
ing  together,  while  Millicent  sat  gazing  dreamily 
into  the  glowing  heart  of  the  low-burning  fire, 
conscious  that  Graham  was  looking  intently  on 
her  face.  She  dared  not  lift  her  eyes  to  his, 
and  veiled  them  with  the  downcast  lids.  Not 
what  she  might  read  daunted  her,  but  what 
might  be  revealed  to  the  man  who  sat  leaning 
forward  in  the  quaintly-carven  oak  chair. 

"  It  is  understood  then  that  you  admit  .my 
claim  to  your  hand,  —  for  one  dance  at  least? 
You  acknowledge  the  promise  made  so  many 
dim  years  back  ?  You  have  come  across  wide, 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  99 

tossing  seas  and  over  broad,  sun-parched  fields 
to  keep  the  tryst  you  made  with  me,  a  smile 
upon  your  face,  a  shadow  in  your  eyes?  " 

For  answer  the  girl  bowed  her  head. 

"  Nay,  I  must  hear  it  from  your  very  own  lips. 
Is  it  for  this  that  you  have  come?  " 

"Yes."  The  word  came  soft  as  twilight  shad 
ows,  sweet  as  Nature's  harmony.  A  long  pause 
preceded  the  low-breathed  monosyllable,  the 
word  which  fond  women  love  best  to  speak  and 
which  listening  lovers  thrill,  half  cold,  half  hot, 
at  hearing.  And  when  it  was  spoken  and  heard 
came  a  second  silence,  even  longer  than  the 
first;  and  yet  what  they  had  said  was  begun 
in  badinage,  and  was  finished  without  serious 
thought  by  either  man  or  woman.  Dangerous 
words  !  dangerous  silence  !  happy  time,  how  oft 
remembered  in  later  days  ! 

"  Did  I  hear  you  asking  Miss  Almsford  for 
a  dance,  Graham?  What  ball  are  you  contem 
plating?  I  have  heard  of  none  unless  you  mean 
to  invite  us  all  to  your  tower  for  a  frolic.  Be 
sure  you  do  not  leave  me  out;  I  have  long 
wished  to  visit  your  hermitage." 

"  If  the  ladies  would  so  highly  honor  a  lonely 
dweller  in  the  woods  as  to  allow  him  the  felicity 
of  being  their  host,  be  sure,  my  dear  Ferrara, 
that  you  shall  escort  them  to  my  humble 
abode." 


100  SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH. 

"  Really,  are  you  in  earnest?  I  ha^e  always 
wished  to  see  your  tower.  When  shall  we 
come?  " 

"  That  is  for  you  to  say,  Miss  Deering.  Any 
day  which  will  suit  your  convenience  will  be 
agreeable  to  me." 

"  We  will  settle  it  after  we  return  to  the 
Ranch." 

Soon  after  this  Mrs.  Shallop  joined  the  group, 
and  they  all  went  out  and  walked  on  the  wide  ter 
race  till  dinner  was  served.  Here  Millicent  met 
Mr.  Shallop  for  the  first  time.  He  was  a  heavy- 
featured  Irishman,  with  light-blue  eyes,  over 
hanging  brows,  and  thick,  coarse  brown  hair. 
His  badly  modelled  nose  had  a  decided  up 
ward  tendency,  and  the  broad  mouth  disclosed 
sharp,  long  teeth,  like  those  of  an  inferior  animal. 
When  he  smiled  he  showed  the  whole  set,  which 
gave  him  a  rather  ferocious  aspect.  His  face 
was  clean  shaven,  save  for  a  fringe  of  whisker 
stretching  from  the  lobe  of  the  ear  to  the  lower 
jaw.  With  a  pipe  and  ashillelah  he  would  have 
been  an  excellent  specimen  of  a  patron  of 
Donnybrook  Fair.  On  this  occasion  he  wore 
irreproachable  evening  dress.  His  linen  was 
finer  than  Graham's,  and  the  cut  of  his  collar 
and  pattern  of  his  studs  were  of  a  later  fashion 
than  those  worn  by  Ferrara.  A  valet's  care 
had  smoothed  the  rough  hair  and  cared  for  the 


SAN  ROSARIO  R-AtiCK  ; 

ugly  hands.  One  of  his  peculiarities  was  to  ad 
dress  all  ladies  as  "  Marm."  His  conversation 
was  not  unintelligent,  and  betrayed  a  keen,  sharp 
mind,  which  clearly  understood  those  things 
which  came  in  close  contact  with  it,  but  whose 
mental  vision  was  bounded  by  the  physical  one. 
Those  things  which  he  had  learned  by  expe 
rience  he  knew  absolutely,  and  he  never  ques 
tioned  or  theorized  on  subjects  which  did  not 
directly  touch  himself  or  his  own  interests. 
California  had  been  to  him  a  place  which  held  a 
gold  mine,  nothing  more  or  less.  His  history, 
which  he  made  no  effort  to  conceal,  was  not 
an  uncommon  one.  He  had  come  out  in  '49, 
among  the  fevered  crowd  of  gold-seekers  drawn 
from  every  country,  from  every  station  in  life,  by 
the  loadstone  which  had  been  discovered  on  the 
banks,  of  the  American  River,  by  James  Mar 
shall.  He  had  come  to  San  Francisco  in  those 
early  days  when  law  and  order  were  not,  save 
when  the  conscience  of  the  public,  stronger  and 
purer  in  its  united  power  than  in  the  individuals 
which  compose  it,  was  awakened,  and  hastened 
to  punish  a  crime  by  a  rude  and  swift  justice. 
Shallop  had  built  a  cabin  in  which  he  lived,  and 
in  which  he  sold,  when  he  was  networking  in  the 
gulches,  any  articles  of  food  which  he  was  able  to 
procure.  When  there  were  no  potatoes  or  bread, 
he  closed  the  door  of  his  shanty  and  started 


102  iSfiliV  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

off  with  pick  and  washing-pan  for  the  gulches. 
When  these  staple  edibles  were  to  be  had,  he 
made  a  brisk  trade  in  catering  to  the  half-starved 
miners.  It  had  been  said  that  though  Shallop's 
bread  was  heavy,  it  cost  nearly  its  weight  in 
gold.  In  those  days  he  had  wooed  and  married 
the  widow  of  a  brother  miner,  one  of  the  few 
women  whose  sad  lot  brought  them  to  the  land 
of  disorder  and  bloodshed.  A  few  weeks  only 
elapsed,  before  the  widowed  woman  gladly 
changed  her  state  for  the  protection  of  the 
strong  arm  of  Patrick  Shallop,  to  whom  she  be 
came  deeply  attached,  with  a  pathetic  love  re 
sembling  that  of  a  dog  for  a  kind  master.  The 
bread  grew  lighter  then,  and  sometimes  the  po 
tatoes  fed  pitiful  pale  youths  who  brought  no 
store  of  gold-dust  to  pay  for  them.  Patrick 
Shallop,  living  in  the  most  magnificent  dwelling 
in  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  California, 
was  sometimes  moved  to  tell  of  the  little  cabin 
where  he  had  brought  home  his  bride  on  a  wet 
night,  borrowing  an  umbrella  to  place  over  the 
bed  to  keep  the  rain  from  wetting  her  to  the 
skin.  There  had  been  times  when  things  had 
gone  badly  with  the  inmates  of  the  little  cabin, 
and  days  had  passed  when  the  mother's  ears 
were  torn  with  the  cries  of  children  hungry  for 
bread.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Barbara's  father 
had  known  the  Shallops.  Mr.  Deering  was  a 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  103 

delicately  bred,  handsome  young  man,  who  had 
come  with  the  eager  crowd  of  men  all  pushing 
ruthlessly  forward  to  the  golden  goal,  sometimes 
trampling  to  death  the  weaker  brothers  who  fell 
by  the  wayside.  Sick  of  a  fever,  faint  and  dying, 
he  was  plundered  of  his  hard-earned  store  of 
gold-dust,  and  would  have  been  murdered  by 
his  robber  but  for  the  interposition  of  Shallop, 
who  stood  by  to  see  fair  play,  and  carried  the 
sick  man  home  to  his  shanty,  where  the  tender 
nursing  of  the  busy  wife  saved  his  life  a  second 
time.  Adversity  makes  strange  companion 
ships  between  men ;  and  the  friendship  between 
the  saloon-keeper  and  the  delicately  nurtured 
youth  with  the  blood  of  a  Puritan  ancestry 
in  his  veins,  was  one  which  lasted  through  both 
their  lives.  By  some  mining  exploits  which 
would  hardly  bear  tlae  light  of  day,  but  which 
were,  alas  !  not  more  uncommon  at  that  time 
than  at  the  present  day,  the  Irishman  had  made 
a  colossal  fortune  which  placed  him  among  the 
richest  men  in  the  world.  There  could  be  lit 
tle  sympathy  between  .the  two  men  whom  the 
chances  of  that  wild  time  had  thrown  together  for 
the  moment,  but  a  cordiality  was  always  felt ;  and 
after  Mr.  Deering's  death  frequent  visits  were  ex 
changed  between  the  dwellers  of  the  San  Rosario 
Ranch  and  the  inmates  of  the  most  celebrated 
house  on  the  borders  of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 


104  SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH. 

The  dinner  was  a  long  one,  served  with  all  the 
tedious  formalities  which  the  fierce  butler  chose 
to  inflict.  It  was  not  until  the  servants  had 
withdrawn  that  the  host  and  hostess,  who  stood 
in  mortal  dread  of  their  chief  functionary,  their 
oracle  on  all  matters  of  etiquette,  seemed  to 
feel  themselves  at  home  at  their  own  table. 
The  removal  of  this  restraint,  and  the  excellent 
wine,  served  to  make  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour 
spent  over  the  dessert  the  pleasantest  part  of 
the  repast.  Millicent,  sitting  at  the  right  hand 
of  her  host,  at  last  succeeded  in  making  him  tell 
some  anecdotes  of  his  early  Californian  expe 
riences,  to  which  she  listened  with  breathless 
interest.  Her  feelings  were  undergoing  a  radical 
change;  and  if  the  country  which  she  at  first 
detested  had  not  yet  become  dear  to  her,  she 
certainly  felt  the  greatest  interest  and  curiosity 
to  learn  more  of  it.  In  the  old  dreamy  life  of 
Venice,  her  days  had  been  spent  in  golden 
visions  of  a  vanished  grandeur.  She  was  now 
awaking  to  the  stirring  reality  of  the  present, 
and  felt  dimly  that  to  be  an  heir  to  the  glories 
of  the  past  was  but  a  part  of  living,  —  an  inheri 
tance  which  affects  us  less  than  the  actual  doing 
and  striving  of  our  own  times. 

The  party  sat  together  in  the  library,  with  its 
comfortable  chairs  and  rows  of  undisturbed 
books  sleeping  between  their  gilded  covers, 


SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH.  105 

until  late  in  the  evening.  The  conversation  was 
general,  and  the  quick  mind  of  the  stranger 
guest  learned  from  it  much  that  roused  her 
attention.  "  If  I  only  had  four  ears  instead  of 
two !  "  she  cried  at  last,  after  a  vain  endeavor 
to  follow  at  the  same  time  a  discussion  between 
Ferrara  and  Mr.  Shallop  on  the  best  method  of 
vine  culture,  and  a  conversation  between  Gra 
ham  and  Mrs.  Shallop  on  the  subject  of  the 
public  schools.  Soon  after  this,  the  ladies  left 
the  room ;  and  Millicent,  her  pulses  all  a-trem- 
ble  with  the  various  new  experiences  of  the  day, 
was  slow  in  falling  asleep.  That  night  her  lips 
forgot  to  give  their  wonted  homesick  sigh  for 
Italy,  for  Venice. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Did  young  people  take  their  pleasure  when  the  sea  was  warm 

in  May  ? 

When  they  made  up  fresh  adventures  for  the  morrow  do  you 
say  ? " 

THE  week's  visit  at  the  Shallops'  slipped  quickly 
away,  each  pleasant  day  passing  too  hastily 
into  to-morrow,  Millicent  thought.  The  order 
ing  of  each  day  had  something  of  a  routine, 
beginning  invariably  with  a  gallop  on  horseback. 
The  way  sometimes  led  across  wet,  hard  beaches 
where  the  horses'  hoofs  crushed,  with  a  crisp 
sound,  the  tiny  sea-shells  left  by  the  receding  ' 
waves.  The  tall  roan  which  Millicent  rode  was 
a  young  thoroughbred,  with  slender  legs,  a 
proud,  arching  neck,  and  undipped  mane  and 
tail.  Mrs.  Shallop  had  given  the  fine  animal 
to  her  guest ;  and  Millicent,  who  had  a  magnetic 
influence  over  all  animals,  easily  controlled  the 
horse  by  word  or  touch.  The  young  people 
usually  paired  off;  Millicent  riding  beside  Gra 
ham,  Barbara  and  Ferrara  following,  while  Mr. 
Shallop  brought  up  the  rear  on  a  sturdy  cob 
whose  character  and  strength  were  well  calcu 
lated  to  bear  up  the  portly  magnate.  Some 
times  they  rode  through  the  odorous  woods, 


SAN  EOS  A  RIO  RANCH.  IO/ 

where  the  air  was  heavy  with  spices,  and  melo 
dious  with  sweet  bird-notes  foreign  to  Millicent's 
ears.  The  tall  and  stately  redwoods  standing 
straight  and  unbending  in  their  close  serried 
ranks,  seemed  to  her  a  noble  symbol  of  the  life 
of  an  upright  man,  who  looks  fearlessly  into 
the  wide  heavens,  raised  far  above  the  briers 
which  grow  about  his  lesser  brethren. 

On  their  return  from  their  ride,  glowing  with 
the  splendid  exercise,  breakfast  was  served ; 
sometimes  in  the  pretty  morning  room,  oftener 
in  a  sheltered  part  of  the  wide  veranda,  from 
whence  they  might  look  out  upon  the  shadowy 
woods  stretching  behind  the  house.  After  this 
meal,  Mr.  Shallop  and  Ferrara  took  the  train 
for  San  Francisco ;  and  the  hostess  and  Graham 
disappeared  into  the  temporary  studio  which 
had  been  arranged  for  the  artist.  The  two  girls 
were  left  to  amuse  themselves.  Millicent,  who 
had  brought  her  usual  store  of  books,  did  not 
open  one  of  them,  but  moused  about  in  the 
library,  finding  many  works  quite  new  to  her 
and  full  of  interest.  If  her  knowledge  of  Italian 
and  French  literature  was  remarkable,  her  ierno- 

o 

ranee  of  the  English  classics  was  stupendous. 
Shakspeare  alone  was  familiar  to  her  among 
the  great  ones.  The  long  rows  of  finely  bound 
books  were  mostly  uncut  and  showed  little  evi 
dence  of  having  been  read,  a  copy  of  a  lady's 


108  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

fashion  book,  and  a  volume  treating  of  the 
manners  of  polite  society,  forming  notable  ex 
ceptions  to  this  rule.  At  mid-day  a  beach- 
wagon  conveyed  the  young  girls  to  the  shining 
sea-sands,  and  they  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  a 
bath.  In  the  afternoon  they  took  long  drives, 
or  played  lawn  tennis  with  friends  from  the 
hotel  in  the  town.  The  evenings  were  some 
times  spent  on  the  long,  cool  veranda,  oftener 
on  Mr.  Shallop's  stanch  yacht,  the  "  Golden 
Hind."  She  was  a  fine  vessel  several  tons  heav 
ier  than  her  illustrious  namesake,  in  which  Sir 
Francis  Drake  sailed  along  the  coast  of  Cali 
fornia  more  than  three  centuries  ago,  and  took 
possession  of  the  land  as  "  New  Albion/'  in  the 
name  of  good  Queen  Bess. 

Pleasant  days,  full  of  incident  and  enjoyment, 
filled  with  new  impressions  to  Millicent,  and 
freighted  with  sunlight  and  merriment  to  all 
the  party.  No  thought  of  the  weather  lent  the 
anxious  uncertainty  to  plans  which  so  often 
to  us  in  the  East  takes  half  the  enjoyment  from 
anticipation.  From  May  to  November  in  this 
favored  land  the  blue  of  the  sky  is  unclouded, 
save  by  gossamer  white  drifts  of  vapor,  massed 
into  soft  shapes  and  mystic  outlines.  The  sky 
smiles  from  spring  to  laughing  summer,  and 
the  land  lies  steeped  in  sunshine  through  the 
late  autumn. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  109 

The  wide  white  beach,  with  its  row  of  bathing- 
houses  and  little  tents,  was  very  attractive  to 
Millicent.  She  sometimes  sat  in  the  warm  sand 
for  hours,  chatting  with  Barbara  or  making 
friends  with  the  bare-legged  children,  the  tire 
less  architects  in  sand.  Finally,  donning  their 
bathing-suits,  they  ran,  hand  in  hand,  over  the 
dry  sands,  across  the  wet  space  which  the  last 
wave  had  darkened,  through  the  white  fringe  of 
the  sea,  into  the  cool  green  billows. 

The  last  day  of  their  visit  had  come,  and  the 
morrow  would  see  them  on  their  way  back  to 
San  Rosario.  Millicent  and  Barbara  had  pro 
longed  their  sea  dip  beyond  their  usual  wont. 
Never  before  had  the  water  seemed  so  bracing 
and  delicious.  As  there  were  twenty  or  thirty 
bathers  to  keep  her  company,  Millicent  lingered 
among  the  breakers,  while  Barbara  regained  the 
shore.  She  swam  leisurely  about,  displacing 
the  clear  water  with  her  white  arms  and  pretty, 
small  feet.  She  suddenly  became  aware  that  a 
swimmer  was  gaining  on  her  from  behind,  and 
her  stroke  instinctively  quickened.  Millicent 
swam  as  only  the  women  of  Venice  can  swim ; 
and  the  race  between  her  and  her  unseen  pur 
suer  bade  fair  to  be  hotly  contested.  With 
head  high  lifted  from  the  waves  which  circled 
caressingly  about  the  smooth  round  throat, 
knotting  the  tendril  curls  at  the  nape  of  the 


110  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

neck,  th'e  girl  kept  steadily  on  her  course  with 
out  turning  her  head  to  see  who  might  be  so 
audacious  as  to  follow  her.  Strong  as  were 
her  strokes,  she  slowly  lost  ground ;  and  finally 
the  water  about  her  rippled  with  the  strokes 
of  the  man  who  was  gaining.  Soon  he  had 
caught  up  with  her,  and  side  by  side  they  swam 
for  a  space.  Then  the  victor  spoke  in  a  voice 
well  known  to  her,  and  the  girl  answered  him 
with  a  laugh  which  rang  out  fresh  and  crisp 
as  the  sound  of  the  wavelets.  Then  she  turned 
her  head  and  looked  full  at  him  as  he  moved 
by  her  side,  strong  and  graceful  as  a  young 
merman. 

"  So,  my  nymph,  you  are  at  home  in  Father 
Neptune's  arms  as  well  as  in  the  embrace  of  the 
great  tree.  Which  is  your  native  element, 
earth,  air,  or  water?  " 

"  I  am  amphibious." 

"  And  which  of  your  three  elemental  homes 
do  you  like  the  best?  " 

"When  I  am  dancing,  the  air;  when  I  am 
walking,  dear  Mother  Earth ;  and  when  I  swim, 
the  sea." 

"  When  I  paint  you,  it  will  be  as  I  see  you  now, 
triumphing  over  the  waves  as  our  great  mother, 
Aphrodite,  triumphed  over  them  before  you." 

"  That  compliment  would  go  to  my  head 
were  it  not  mixed  with  so  much  water." 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  Ill 

Then  they  both  laughed,  because  the  sky  was 
sapphire  clear,  and  the  sea  beryl  green ;  because 
the  golden  sun  warmed  them  with  its  kind  rays ; 
because  each  was  fair  and  good  to  look  upon ; 
because,  when  they  were  together,  winds  blew 
more  softly,  and  sky  and  sea  took  on  a  more 
tender  hue  where  they  melted  at  the  horizon 
into  one  ineffable  kiss.  A  pair  of  white-winged 
gulls  swept  above  them,  shrieking  their  love- 
notes  hoarsely,  while  the  white-armed  girl  and 
the  strong-limbed  man  breasted  the  waves  to 
gether,  side  by  side.  Though  lapped  by  the 
cool  water,  Graham  felt  the  warm  influence 
which  folded  about  him  like  a  cloak  in  Milli- 
cent's  presence.  When  she  grew  tired  the  girl 
turned  upon  her  side  and  floated ;  while  Graham 
swam  about  her  in  little  circles,  first  moving 
like  a  shark  on  one  side,  with  long,  far-reaching 
strokes,  then  swimming  upon  his  back,  and 
finally  beneath  the  waves,  looking  always  at  her 
face  seen  dimly  through  the  dark-green  water. 

After  a  space  Millicent  looked  about  to  find 
herself  alone,  far  from  the  shore  with  its  group 
of  bathers.  At  first  she  fancied  that  her  com 
panion  must  be  swimming  below  the  water  as 
he  had  done  before ;  but,  as  the  slow-passing 
seconds  went  by,  she  realized  that  some  ill  must 
have  befallen  him.  Stretching  her  arms  above 
her  head,  she  dived  straight  and  swift  through 


112  SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH. 

the  clear  water  towards  the  pebbled  bottom  of 
the  ocean  shining  through  the  pellucid  waters. 
In  that  dim  under-current  she  touched  him, 
stiff  and  cold,  rising  toward  the  surface,  but 
through  no  effort  of  his  own  helpless  limbs. 
In  that  terrified  heart-beat  of  time  she  saw  his 
face  set  and  white,  with  horror-stricken  eyes 
widely  strained  apart.  Into  them  she  looked, 
her  own  firing  with  hope  and  courage,  and 
giving  a  mute  promise  of  rescue.  She  seized 
his  rigid  arm  with  her  strong,  small  hands,  and 
they  rose  together  to  the  surface.  The  man 
was  as  if  paralyzed ;  and  the  girl  for  an  instant 
tried  to  support  him,  but,  feeling  such  a  strain 
would  soon  out-wear  her  half-spent  strength, 
she  cried, — 

"  Put  your  hand  on  my  shoulder  —  so,  and  I 
will  swim  below  you."  Her  voice  was  hoarse 
and  shrill  as  that  of  the  screaming  sea-gulls. 
He  could  not  speak,  but  looked  toward  the 
shore  as  if  he  would  have  her  save  herself  and 
abandon  him  to  his  fate. 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  will  save  you  ;"  and, 
placing  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  struck  out 
bravely  toward  the  shore.  To  reach  it  seemed 
at  first  an  easy  thing,  but  the  struggle  proved  a 
terrible  one,  cruelly  unequal,  between  the  girl's 
small  strength,  with  the  burden  now  added  to 
her  own  weight,  and  the  waves  grown  hungry 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  113 

for  human  prey.  Their  babbling  music  now 
was  changed  to  Millicent's  ears,  and  they  clam 
ored  greedily  for  her  life,  for  that  other  life 
which  she  was  striving  to  snatch  from  their 
cruel  embrace.  Again  and  again  the  man  would 
loosen  his  hold.  She  could  not  save  him :  why 
should  she  die  too,  she  was  so  young,  so  fair ! 
This  he  tried  to  tell  her  in  gasping  accents,  but 
she  only  gripped  his  hand  more  firmly  and 
placed  it  as  before.  They  should  both  live  or 
die.  Fate,  which  had  been  so  cruel  to  her,  had 
cast  their  lots  together  for  that  day  at  least;  and 
death  seemed  sweeter  by  his  side  than  life  with 
out  him.  Her  brave  spirit  fainted  not,  though 
her  labored  strokes  grew  slower  and  feebler. 
Then  she  gave  one  great  cry  for  help  to  those 
who  were  so  near  them,  and  yet  so  unconscious 
of  their  danger.  She  heard  their  voices  plainly, — 
the  mothers  talking  to  romping  children,  whose 
ringing  laughter  mocked  her  agony.  Was  it 
their  death  knell,  this  sound  of  sweet  child-voices 
that  drowned  her  frenzied  cry,  and  filled  the  ears 
of  the  strong  men  and  women,  keeping  out  the 
fainting  accents  which  pleaded  for  his  life  and 
her  own?  Once  again,  and  this  time  with  a 
thrilling  vibration  of  despair,  the  woman's  voice 
rang  out  across  the  waves.  It  was  freighted 
with  her  last  hope ;  it  was  the  latest  sound  her 
gasping  lungs  could  utter.  Could  love  and 
'  8 


114  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

hope  of  life  outshriek  the  murmur  of  the  waves, 
the  shrill  note  of  the  sea-mews,  the  noisy  prattle 
of  the  infants?  The  man,  long  since  despairing, 
groaned  :  it  seemed  murder  to  him  that  his  help 
less  weight  should  drag  down  the  fair,  brave 
young  creature  to  her  grave ;  his  death  agony 
was  made  more  bitter  by  the  thought.  The 
girl's  determination  never  wavered,  and  her  little 
strength  was  not  wasted  in  a  longer  struggle; 
she  managed  to  keep  his  face  above  the  waves, 
but  now  only  held  her  own,  and  had  ceased  to 
make  the  slightest  progress.  She  could  now  no 
longer  see  the  bathers.  Had  her  cry  been  heard  ? 
O  waves !  be  merciful  and  still  your  clamor ! 
White-winged  partners,  cry  no  more  your  mock 
ing  love  notes  !  Sweet  mothers,  list  no  longer  to 
your  children's  laughter,  for  there  is  other  sound 
which  must  reach  your  fond  ears  and  chill  your 
warm  hearts  with  horror !  For  a  moment  there 
grew  a  great  silence  as  of  listening,  and  then 
over  the  water  came  answering  cries  of  women 
agonized  with  sympathy,  came  the  hearty  voices 
of  strong  men  saying,  "  Keep  up,  keep  up  !  for 
help  is  coming,  it  is  close  beside  you."  Ah, 
God  !  it  is  in  time,  for  the  two  white  faces,  lying 
so  close  in  the  green  waters,  have  but  just  van 
ished  from  sight;  they  still  shine  through  the 
waves  but  a  little  space  beneath  the  surface. 
Strong  helping  arms  raise  the  nerveless  bodies 


SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH.  115 

from  the  waves  that  murmur  sullenly,  bear  them 
safely  to  the  shore  with  its  shining  white  sands, 
and,  last,  gently  loose  the  maiden's  white  hands, 
clinging  still,  though  all  unconsciously,  to  the 
man  whose  life  she  has  saved.  Weeping  women 
gather  about  them,  lying  there  so  still  and  fair 
upon  the  white  beach ;  frightened  children  look 
curiously  at  the  half-drowned  figures  of  the  man 
and  the  woman.  Still  are  they  man  and  woman, 
and  not  yet  fallen  to  that  terrible  neuter  of 
death,  wherein  age  and  sex  are  not,  where  serf 
and  queen  are  equals. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  A  flame !     Her  clear  soul's  essence  slips, 
To  steep  for  aye  with  mine,  from  her  fast-whitening  lips  !  " 

SEVERAL  days  passed  before  these  two  who, 
hand  in  hand,  had  looked  death  in  the  face,  and 
felt  his  chill  breath  freezing  up  the  current  of 
their  lives,  again  saw  one  another.  Graham, 
after  twenty-four  hours,  was  able  to  be  about, 
looking  pale  and  ill.  The  congestive  chill  which 
had  overcome  him  was  the  result  of  his  having 
plunged  into  the  sea  while  very  much  over 
heated.  The  water  at  San  Real,  and  indeed  all 
along  the  Pacific  coast,  is  very  much  colder 
than  at  the  Eastern  watering  places  of  a  corre 
sponding  latitude,  where  the  genial  influence 
of  the  Gulf  Stream  is  felt.  His  vigorous  consti 
tution  quickly  threw  off  the  effects  of  the  terrible 
experience ;  but  three  long  days  and  nights  wore 
themselves  out  before  Millicent's  light  step 
sounded  on  the  stairs.  Mrs.  Shallop  and  Bar 
bara  were  sitting  alone  at  the  luncheon  table, 
when  the  latter  caught  the  sound  of  the  well- 
known  footfall;  she  hastily  left  the  room,  and 
running  up  the  stairs  passed  her  arm  about  the 
feeble  girl,  supporting  her  into  the  room. 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  1 1/ 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  you  were 
coming?  Do  you  think  it  prudent,  dear?  " 

"  Yes,  I  wanted  to  come,  and  the  doctor  said 
I  should  do  whatever  I  fancied,"  she  answered 
a  little  fretfully ;  then  she  smiled,  with  that  flash 
ing  of  the  eyes  'that  always  won  her  pardon  for 
any  little  sin.  It  was  a  strange  coincidence, 
Barbara  thought,  that  Millicent  should  have 
come  downstairs  for  the  first  time  on  the  morn 
ing  when  Graham  had  gone  to  San  Francisco. 
It  was  his  first  absence  since  the  beginning  of 
their  visit.  Why  should  she  avoid  meeting  the 
man  whose  life  she  had  saved  at  the  risk  of  her 
own?  Graham  had  every  day  begged  to  see 
her,  but  Millicent  had  not  felt  equal  to  the  in 
terview.  Barbara  was  genuinely  puzzled ;  but 
then  Barbara  was  often  puzzled  by  Millicent. 
During  the  days  just  past  her  gentle  care  and 
nursing  had  brought  her  much  nearer  to  Milli 
cent  than  she  had  been  before.  In  those  long 
mornings  when  Barbara,  in  a  full,  deep  voice, 
read  to  her  from  her  favorite  books,  Millicent 
had  time  to  think  more  about  her  new  friend ; 
and  the  more  she  thought  about  her  the  better 
she  liked  the  sweet,  sound,  womanly  nature, 
with  its  domestic  instincts,  and  maternal  care 
of  all  creatures  sick  or  sorry.  One  morning,  as 
the  invalid  lay  upon  her  couch,  while  Barbara's 
gentle  hands  plaited  her  long  hair  in  thick 
strands,  she  said,  somewhat  abruptly,  — 


Il8  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  Barbara,  why  have  you  not  married?  " 

"  What  an  odd  question  !  " 

"  If  you  knew  what  a  charming  wife  you  would 
make,  you  would  think  the  question  a  most 
natural  one.  I  suppose  you  have  been  in  love?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  jestingly. 

"  Bah  !  talk  seriously  for  a  moment  with  me. 
Why  do  you  not  marry  Ferrara?  The  poor  fel 
low  is  perfectly  pathetic  in  his  devotion  to  you. 
You  know,  Barbara,  that  matrimony  would  suit 
you  delightfully;  there  is  nothing  so  becoming 
to  a  woman  of  your  type  as  the  background  of 
a  home  of  her  own.  There  you  would  shine 
like  Jessica's  candle  in  this  naughty  world." 

"  I  have  never  thought  about  it  in  the  way 
of  a  background." 

"  Of  course  you  never  did ;  but,  Barbara,  do 
you  think  you  could  fall  in  love  again?" 

"Who  knows?" 

"  Then  I  know  that  you  have  never  been  in 
love  at  all,  ma  belle  —  oh,  I  forgot,  and  have 
broken  my  vow  to  speak  English  pure  and 
simple.  Well,  never  mind,  now  we  will  talk 
about  my  broth,  for  I  am  very  hungry.  I  feel 
like  little  Rosalba  in  the  '  Rose  and  the  Ring,' 
when  she  went  about  crying,  '  Dutess  Tountess, 
my  royal  highness  vely  hungy.' " 

Long  confidences  had  followed  this  conversa 
tion  ;  and  Millicent  listened  to  Barbara's  account 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  1 19 

of  a  childish  romance  with  that  deep  interest 
which  women  all  feel  in  the  heart  experiences 
of  their  sisters.  Such  sympathy  is  born  in  the 
feminine  breast  before  the  power  of  loving 
awakes  there,  and  dies  not  when  experience  has 
brought  nothing  to  it  but  grief  and  bitterness. 
The  veriest  chit  of  a  girl  of  ten  will  read  a  love- 
story  if  she  be  allowed,  while  her  brothers  are 
inventing  ingenious  instruments  for  the  torture 
of  cats  and  nurses.  The  deafest  grandam  will 
listen  with  keen  interest  to  her  favorite  grand 
daughter's  confession  of  love,  and  will  be  care 
ful  not  to  chill  young  hopes  with  her  own  sad 
memories.  All  those  who  have  loved  truly, 
with  that  love  which  outlasts  grief,  death,  and 
human  passion,  which  smiles  at  the  cruelest 
neglect,  which,  like  the  love  of  the  Most  High, 
passeth  all  understanding,  have  sympathy  and 
kindly  interest  for  those  who  are  in  love.  That 
"  all  the  world  loves  a  lover,"  is  the  truest  of 
all  sayings. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  Millicent  told 
Barbara  that  she  was  anxious  to  return  to  the 
Ranch  the  following  day.  Since  her  first  meet 
ing  with  John  Graham,  her  life  had  danced  away 
through  bright  hours  passed  in  his  company,  in 
remembering  past  interviews,  in  looking  forward 
to  future  meetings.  In  the  long  days  when  she 
lay  weak  and  helpless,  slowly  recovering  from 


120  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

the  terrible  drain  on  forces,  nervous  and  muscu 
lar,  she  had  thought  long  and  deeply ;  and  now 
that  she  was  well,  she  did  not  wish  to  meet  Gra 
ham,  and  avoided  his  presence.  She  realized, 
as  she  had  not  done  before,  that  she  deeply 
and  irrevocably  loved  this  man,  whose  name  six 
months  ago  had  been  unknown  to  her.  Whether 
this  understanding  of  what  was  in  her  own  heart 
came  upon  her  in  one  broad  flash  of  quickened 
intelligence,  when  she  lay  half  swallowed  up  by 
the  jaws  of  death,  still  clasping  him  with  feeble 
hands,  or  if,  in  the  quiet  hours  of  introspection 
which  followed  that  awful  moment,  she  gradually 
learned  the  truth,  it  would  be  hard  to  say,  but 
that  she  now  knew  it,  was  indubitable.  The 
fact  that  the  man  she  loved  should  be  indebted 
to  her  for  his  life  was  a  distasteful  one.  Not 
through  gratitude  did  she  wish  to  attract  him ; 
the  very  thought  of  it  was  galling  to  her.  She 
loved  him,  and  longed,  with  the  deepest  power 
in  her  soul,  to  arouse  in  his  breast  that  an 
swering  passion,  which,  like  a  deep  bass  chord, 
mingles  with  the  sweet  treble  song  of  woman's 
love,  their  harmony  making  the  one  perfect 
note  to  which  the  keystone  of  the  universe 
trembles  sympathetically.  Sweet  as  was  the 
thought  that  her  strength  had  sufficed  for  them 
both,  she  mourned  the  chance  which  had  made 
her  hand  the  rescuing  one.  Love  that  springs 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  121 

from  gratitude  or  from  pity  is  earth-born  and 
earth-bound;  she  would  have  none  of  it;  it  was  as 
if  she  had  a  claim  upon  him  for  that  gift,  which 
if  not  freely  given  is  valueless.  So,  with  a  shy 
ness  new  to  her,  she  avoided  meeting  Graham ; 
and  the  night  of  his  return  she  sought  her  room 
again  and  did  not  appear  until  the  following 
morning.  If  Graham  did  not  know  all,  he  was 
ready  enough  to  understand  that  she  avoided 
his  thanks. 

Mrs.  Shallop  passed  the  last  evening  of  her 
guests'  visit  sitting  with  Miss  Almsford,  answer 
ing  her  many  eager  questions  of  the  strange,  wild 
days  when  law  and  order  were  not  in  the  broad 
golden  land.  It  seemed  almost  incredible  to 
Millicent,  and  yet  she  felt  it  to  be  true,  that  the 
wife  of  the  mining  king  regretted  the  past  days 
of  poverty  and  simplicity.  The  hard-earned  crust, 
shared  with  a  husband  whose  every  thought  was 
known  to  her,  had  tasted  sweeter  than  the  luxu 
ries  of  a  table  at  which  she  often  sat  alone,  or 
with  a  partner  absorbed  in  thoughts  and  enter 
prises  in  which  she  had  no  part.  Her  children 
had  then  been  entirely  hers ;  now  they  were  far 
distant,  —  the  boy  at  an  English  college,  the  girl 
in  a  French  conventual  school,  whence  they 
would  both  return  grown  too  clever  and  proud 
to  care  for  her  simple-hearted  companionship. 
What  mattered  it  that  she  had  toiled  day  and 


122  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

night  to  buy  them  food  and  clothing,  had  worn 
out  her  poor  body  and  dulled  her  simple  mind 
with  anxious  overstrain  and  grinding  labor  ? 
Would  they  thank  her  for  it  now  ?  When,  a 
year  before,  she  had  visited  these  adored  chil 
dren,  she  had  felt  the  distance  between  them 
and  herself.  If  her  son  had  not  been  ashamed 
of  his  poor  mother,  it  was  only  because  his 
heart  was  not  quite  weaned  from  hers.  The 
girl  was  gentle  and  kind ;  but  the  pitying  care 
with  which  she  brought  her  conversation  to  the 
level  of  her  mother's  understanding  was  all  too 
obvious  to  the  sensitive  woman,  whose  nervous 
strength  had  been  shattered  in  the  hard  fight 
which  she  had  made  all  those  years  ago,  to  keep 
the  breath  of  life  in  their  little  bodies.  Half 
her  life  had  been  passed  at  the  wash-tub,  half  in 
the  drawing-room ;  the  transition  had  been  too 
sudden  for  a  person  of  her  temperament.  The 
soapsuds,  which  used  to  flash  the  splintered  rays 
of  light  from  her  hands,  were  more  appropriate 
to  them  than  the  diamonds  with  which  they 
now  glittered.  Poor  woman,  the  extremes  of 
fortune  were  both  known  to  her. 

Though  their  visit  had  been  a  delightful  one, 
Millicent  was  anxious  to  return  to  the  Ranch  ;  she 
longed  for  the  quiet,  refined  atmosphere  of  the 
place,  with  its  simple  comforts,  doubly  attractive 
after  this  experience  of  the  luxurious  but  inap- 


SAN  EOSAPJO  RANCH.  12$ 

propriate  house  of  Mr.  Patrick  Shallop.  There 
is  a  certain  fitness  in  things ;  and  the  ex-miner, 
living  in  the  palace  of  the  railroad  king,  was  less 
at  home  than  England's  monarch  could  have 
been  in  the  cowherd's  hovel.  Millicent  felt  the 
social  malaise  which  arises  from  the  incongruity 
of  persons  with  their  surroundings.  Graham, 
interested  in  his  portrait,  which  was  coming  on 
famously,  was  not  easily  affected  by  a  personal 
atmosphere  to  which  he  was  indifferent ;  while 
Barbara  and  Ferrara,  used  to  a  similar  condition 
of  things,  accepted  it  without  question. 

The  morning  of  the  last  day  of  their  visit 
dawned  bright  and  clear ;  and  Millicent,  standing 
on  the  terrace,  thought  the  wide  view  had  never 
seemed  so  beautiful  before.  She  was  taking 
farewell  of  that  sea  which  had  so  nearly  swal 
lowed  her  young  life  with  all  its  hopes  and  fears. 
The  waves  murmured  with  a  gentle  sound,  as  if 
quite  oblivious  of  their  late  rapacity.  She 
went  out  into  the  thick  pine  woods  behind  the 
house,  and  stood  for  the  last  time  among  the 
great  redwoods,  which  to  her  were  so  wonderful, 
and  which  everybody  else  accepted  as  a  matter 
of  course.  A  well-known  footstep  behind  her 
on  the  dry  leaves  caused  the  slight  pink  tinge 
which  the  morning  breeze  had  brought  to  her 
cheek  to  fade  suddenly;  the  blood  seemed 
rushing  from  every  vein  back  to  its  source,  and 


124  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

her  heart  stopped  its  pulsations  for  a  moment 
She  did  not  turn  her  head,  but  stood  quite  silent, 
waiting  for  Graham's  first  word.  When  he  was 
at  her  side,  she  felt  her  hand  suddenly  caught 
in  a  warm  pressure  which  sent  the  blood  rush 
ing  through  the  arteries  again,  tingling  painfully 
in  every  fibre  of  her  body,  and  loosening  the 
cold  silence  of  the  heart,  which  beat  out  a  quick 
answer  to  the  words  of  greeting.  They  were 
but  few  and  very  earnest,  the  words  of  a  brave 
man  glad  to  be  beholden  to  so  fair  a  woman 
for  his  life.  Was  it  gratitude  that  made  his 
voice  tremble,  that  lighted  his  grave  eyes  with 
a  smile? 

She  answered  him  sweetly  and  seriously,  with 
a  steady  voice  and  calm  eyes,  though  the  rose- 
flush  flooded  and  ebbed  from  her  cheek  and 
brow.  The  man  did  not  trouble  himself  to  ana 
lyze  the  feelings*which  gave  rise  to  the  fleeting 
blushes ;  he  was  too  full  of  his  own  enthusiasm 
to  notice  how  it  affected  its  object.  He  spoke 
as  he  felt  and  thought  of  the  woman  standing 
there  so  full  of  life  and  beauty,  —  only  in  the 
light  of  his  relation  to  her.  He  knew  how  he 
felt  towards  her,  and  told  her  so  with  admiring 
frankness ;  of  her  feelings  towards  himself  he 
never  stopped  to  think.  His  was  an  egotistic 
nature,  as  are  those  of  all  strong  men  whose 
personality  stamps  the  age  in  which  they  live. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  12$ 

Weaker  men  and  women  receive  the  imprint  of 
their  time;  only  the  few  strong  ones  leave  their 
images  impressed  when  the  soft  clay  of  the 
present  is  transmitted  into  the  unmalleable 
granite  of  the  past. 

They  walked  together  for  a  time,  Graham  full 
of  anxious  inquiry  for  her  health,  and  Millicent 
happy  in  his  anxiety.  When  the  artist  learned 
of  the  proposed  departure,  he  strongly  opposed 
it,  urging  a  longer  stay.  When  he  found  that 
the  young  ladies  had  decided  to  leave  San  Real, 
he  announced  his  intention  of  accompanying 
them.  Mrs.  Shallop  shortly  afterward  joined 
the  pair  and  handed  Millicent  a  newspaper,  at 
which  the  girl  looked  quite  indifferently  until 
her  eyes  caught  her  own  name  in  large  letters 
at  the  head  of  a  column.  She  quickly  read  the 
article,  which  proved  to  be  a  highly  sensational 
account  of  the  rescue  of  Graham. 

A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH  !  —  Heroism  of  a  Young  Girl  !  — 
John  Graham  rescued  from  Drowning  by  Beautiful  Millicent 
Almsford! — The  Personal  Appearance  of  the  Heroine!  — 
Early  History  of  the  Lucky  Man ! 

These  headings  preceded  the  two-column 
article  at  which  Graham  laughed  contemptu 
ously,  and  which  drew  hot  tears  from  Millicent's 
eyes.  She  had  never  before  seen  her  own  name 
in  print,  and  the  freedom  with  which  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  press  deals  with  the  affairs  of  ladies  who 


126  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

have  no  claim  on  the   public  interest  was   un 
known  to  her.     She  only  felt  that  her  name  was 
being  spoken  by  people  who  never  had  heard 
of  her ;   that  the  most  sacred  and  awful  hour  of 
her  life  was  revealed  to  the  world ;   and  that  the 
event  of  which  she  had  hardly  spoken,  and  of 
which  she  barely   dared  to  think,  was  now  fa 
miliar  to  thousands  of  indifferent  readers.     The 
news   had  in   fact  been   telegraphed   to   one  of 
the  large  New  York  papers,  and  in  the  course 
of  a  week  filtered   down   through    the    smaller 
organs  of  that  city  to  the  suburban  press,  and 
was  read  and  forgotten  by  the  careless  public 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  en 
lightened  land.     To  Mrs.  Shallop  and  Barbara, 
accustomed  to  the  vagaries  of  American  jour 
nalism,  the  state  of  mind  into   which  Millicent 
was  thrown  by  the  article  in  the  San  Francisco 
"  Roarer,"  was  entirely  surprising.     It  was  with 
out  doubt  annoying,  but  they  had  both  become 
so  accustomed  to  seeing  their  own  names  and 
those  of  their  friends  in  the  columns  of  the  daily 
journals,  that  Millicent's  horror  and  indignation 
seemed    disproportionate   to    the    cause.      This 
utter  disrespect  of  the  privacy  of  life  which  is 
the  right  of  all  men  and  women  leading  peace 
able  lives,  breaking  no  law  of  the  civil  or  social 
statutes,  is  the  crying  sin  of  modern  journalism. 
When  they  are  charged  with  this,  the  journals 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  \2J 

very  tritely  retort  that  "  social  news  "  pays  bet 
ter  than  any  other  class  of  matter ;  that  its  inser 
tion  is  more  often  prized  and  sought  after  by  the 
individuals  mentioned  than  resented  by  them; 
that  much  of  the  personal  news  is  actually  fur 
nished  by  the  individuals  whom  it  most  con 
cerns  ;  and  that  they  but  supply  the  demand  of 
their  readers.  It  would  be  well  for  them  to 
remember  that  to  pander  to  the  public  taste  is 
not  the  highest  object  open  to  journalism ;  to 
elevate  that  taste  were  a  task  more  deserving 
of  commendation,  and  less  unworthy  of  good 
printer's  ink  and  paper. 

The  next  mail  brought  two  letters  for  Milli- 
cent;  one  from  a  well-known  photographer 
asking  her  for  an  early  sitting,  and  begging  that 
he  might  have  the  sole  privilege  of  photograph 
ing  her.  The  other  communication  was  a  civil 
letter  from  the  editor  of  a  weekly  journal,  asking 
for  a  slight  autobiographical  sketch  from  the 
hand  of  the  heroine  of  San  Real.  In  the  course 
of  the  morning  a  reporter  from  the  California 
"  Bugle,"  a  rival  sheet,  arrived  and  requested  an 
interview  with  Miss  Almsford  and  Mr.  Graham, 
from  which  to  compile  an  article  on  "  The  Res 
cuer  and  the  Rescued."  Millicent's  eyes  flashed 
angrily  when  the  import  of  the  small  printed 
visiting-card  bearing  the  name  of  this  nineteenth- 
century  inquisitor  was  explained  to  her.  She 


128  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

was  heard  to  murmur,  beneath  her  breath,  some 
Italian  words  highly  inimical  to  the  smart  young 
person  who  was  taking  the  opportunity  to  ex 
amine  Mrs.  Shallop's  drawing-room  with  an  eye 
to  future  "  notes."  She  was  astonished  when 
Graham  quietly  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  asking 
that  the  gentleman  might  be  shown  into  the 
smoking-room,  joined  him  there. 

"Why  does  he  not  beat  him?"  she  cried. 
"  If  I  were  a  man  I  should  thrust  him  from  the 
house." 

"  And  be  held  up  to  the  public  as  a  brutal 
assassin?  "  laughed  Barbara.  "  No,  no,  my  dear, 
let  Mr.  Graham  alone;  he  knows  best  how  to 
manage  the  visitor.  It  never  does  to  insult 
those  gentlemen ;  they  are  dangerous  enemies, 
and  have  the  public's  ear  into  which  to  pour  all 
their  grievances.  Our  friend  will  draw  the  fire 
on  himself,  I  fancy,  in  order  to  spare  you. 
News  the  news-fiend  must  have;  he  will  make 
it  himself  if  it  be  not  provided  for  him.  Poor 
thing !  he  must  live,  after  all,  as  well  as  you  or 
I.  It  is  not  his  fault  that  he  is  obliged  to  inter 
view  people;  it  must  be  a  very  disagreeable 
profession." 

Thus  kindly  and  with  wide  ''sympathy  did 
Barbara  Deering  judge  all  men  and  women; 
ay,  and  reporters  too,  together  with  babies, 
Chinamen,  and  other  unfortunate  works  of  God. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  129 

Graham  returned  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  having 
appeased  his  visitor  with  the  aid  of  a  good  cigar 
and  a  champagne  cocktail,  compounded  by  the 
careful  hand  of  the  solemn-faced  butler. 

Millicent  was  still  flushed  and  excited,  all 
Barbara's  arguments  having  failed  to  soothe  her 
nerves.  Graham,  with  one  sentence,  banished 
the  angry  dint  from  her  white  forehead  and 
brought  a  smile  back  to  her  face.  The  hour  of 
the  last  good-bys  had  arrived  ;  and  the  guests 
took  leave  of  their  kind  hostess,  with  promises  to 
repeat  their  visit  before  long.  Little  Mrs.  Shal 
lop  really  cried  at  parting  with  Millicent,  to 
whom  she  had  become  greatly  attached.  She 
sighed  as  the  carriage  disappeared  from  view, 
bearing  its  freight  of  young  people  with  their 
vivid  lives  and  strong  interests.  When  she  went 
back  to  her  great  lonely  drawing-room,  with  its 
splendid  furnishings,  she  realized  what  a  fitting 
frame  it  had  made  for  the  two  pretty  young 
guests,  and  how  unsuitable  it  was  to  her  simple 
tastes.  The  house  was  dreary  without  their  joy 
ous  voices  and  quick  footsteps. 

Just  after  sundown  the  travellers  reached  the 
San  Rosario  station,  where  Hal  was  awaiting 
them  in  the  great  red-painted  wagon.  The  two 
sturdy  mules  were  supplemented  by  old  Sphinx 
harnessed  before  them,  making  what  is  known 
as  a  spiked  team. 

9 


130  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  Hail !  the  conquering  Heroine  comes  !  sound 
the  trumpets,  beat  the  drums ! "  cried  the  irre 
pressible  young  rancher.  "  How  is  our  most 
heroic  Princess,  and  will  she  deign  to  enter  the 
triumphal  car  which  her  humble  slave  has  pre 
pared  for  her?  " 

They  all  laughed ;  but,  through  all  the  lively 
nonsense  which  he  reeled  off  to  them  on  the 
way  to  the  house,  Millicent  felt  that  he  had  been 
really  moved  by  what  had  occurred.  The  grip 
which  he  gave  her  hand  spoke  a  volume  of  ap 
proval  ;  and  the  loud  clap  on  the  shoulder  with 
which  he  greeted  Graham  expressed  more  than 
a  dozen  sentences  of  rhetorical  eloquence  could 
have  done.  The  antics  of  the  unicorn  team 
were  extremely  diverting;  and  these,  with  the 
absurdities  which  Hal  perpetrated  at  every  step 
of  the  road,  brought  the  quartette  to  the  house 
door  "  in  a  state  of  merriment  bordering  on 
idiocy,"  as  he  expressed  it.  Mrs.  Deering,  with 
her  sweet  motherly  greeting,  made  their  return 
seem  a  home-coming  to  Millicent  and  Graham, 
as  well  as  to  Barbara,  the  tall  daughter  of  the 
house.  Her  hospitality  was  so  genuinely  of  the 
heart  that  the  recipient  of  it  was  made  to  feel 
that  it  was  simply  his  due,  and  that  his  pres 
ence  was  as  great  a  favor  to  the  hostess  as  her 
kindness  was  to  him. 

Graham  was  warmly  urged  to  stay  over  night, 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  131 

but  he  resisted  the  temptation  of  remaining. 
Neither  Millicent's  voice  nor  Millicent's  eyes 
had  supplemented  the  invitation. 

As  they  paced  the  path  together,  her  hand 
lying  on  his  arm,  Graham  told  Mrs.  Deering,  in 
a  low  voice,  of  all  that  had  happened  since  their 
departure,  —  of  the  pleasant  days  with  their  ex 
cursions  ;  of  the  new  impressions  made  on  Milli- 
cent  by  all  that  she  saw ;  of  the  friends  whom  he 
had  met,  remembering  all  the  kind  messages 
which  had  been  sent  to  the  gentle  chatelaine  of 
San  Rosario ;  of  Barbara's  sweetness  and  Mrs. 
Shallop's  hospitality;  of  the  progress  he  had 
made  on  the  portrait  of  his  hostess ;  of  the  thou- 
sand-and-one  little  items  of  news  so  welcome  to 
people  leading  a  life  of  quiet  isolation.  Then  in 
graver  tones  he  spoke  of  his  great  peril  and 
Millicent's  bravery,  of  the  strange  thoughts 
which  had  crossed  his  mind  in  that  last  moment 
of  consciousness,  how  her  face  as  well  as  his 
mother's  had  been  revealed  to  him  as  in  a  vision. 
All  this  was  listened  to  with  that  perfect  sym 
pathy  that  is  always  ready  to  receive  confidences, 
and  which  forbears  to  claim  them  when  they 
are  not  spontaneously  given.  Blessed  among 
women  are  these  rare  ones  to  whom  motherless 
sons  can  confide  every  hope  and  disappointment, 
sure  of  a  quick  sympathy,  and  in  whom  the 
mighty  instinct  of  maternity  is  not  satisfied  in 


132  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

ministering  to  their  own  flesh  and  blood,  but 
springs  forth  to  succor  all  who  are  suffering  for 
the  gentle  mother  love. 

It  was  late  when  these  two  said  good-night, 
and  Graham  went  to  find  the  others  to  take 
farewell.  Barbara  and  Hal  were  singing  duets. 
They  had  neither  of  them  seen  Millicent,  and 
fancied  that  she  must  have  gone  to  her  room. 
With  a  sense  of  cold  disappointment  and  injury 
the  young  man  left  the  house.  As  he  passed  by 
the  corner  of  the  piazza  he  fancied  he  saw  a  fig 
ure  standing  close  in  the  shadow  of  an  angle.  He 
stopped ;  the  figure  remained  motionless;  through 
the  heavy  drapery  of  the  vines  he  could  not  tell 
whether  it  was  a  person  or  merely  a  shadow. 

"  Who  is  it?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice.  No 
answer  came,  but  through  the  stillness  of  the 
night  he  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  quick- 
drawn  breath.  Putting  the  honeysuckle  aside 
he  stepped  on  the  piazza,  and  found  that  his 
eyes  had  not  deceived  him.  Millicent  stood 
beneath  the  rose  vines.  When  she  saw  that  she 
was  discovered  she  spoke  with  a  light  laugh : 

"  I  did  not  want  you  to  see  me,  for  I  have 
been  unsociable  this  evening,  and  hoped  you 
would  all  think  I  had  gone  to  bed." 

"  Is  it  not  damp  for  you  to  be  sitting  out-of- 
doors?  "  he  asked,  with  a  voice  grown  deep  and 
tender. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  133 

"  Oh,  no !  I  am  quite  used  to  it.  What  a 
wonderful  night !  I  think  I  never  saw  the  stars 
so  brilliant." 

The  girl  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  the 
piazza,  Graham  placing  a  cushion  under  her 
feet  and  taking  his  place  at  her  side.  It  was  a 
perfectly  still  evening,  the  only  sound  being  the 
far-away  tinkle  of  a  sheep  bell.  There  was  a 
moment  of  dangerous  silence,  which  Millicent 
broke  a  little  nervously,  speaking  of  Italy,  of 
Mrs.  Shallop  and  their  late  visit,  of  Hal's  irre 
sistible  wit,  of  any  one  of  the  subjects  which 
danced  through  her  brain.  She  was  afraid  to 
be  silent,  and  feared  yet  longed  for  what  might 
be  said  if  she  left  too  long  a  pause.  The  spell 
which  kept  Graham  at  her  side  when  he  should 
have  been  half  way  to  his  lonely  tower,  began 
to  assert  itself  over  the  woman,  always  the  last 
to  yield.  The  man  had  long  since  abandoned 
himself  to  that  mysterious  state  of  being  in 
which  every  nerve  of  brain  and  every  pulse  of 
heart  yearns  for  sympathy  and  reaches  out 
toward  its  counterpart.  At  last  she  was  silent, 
the  last  commonplace  dying  half  spoken  on  her 
trembling  lips.  Silence  now  in  all  the  land ; 
only  the  sound  of  heart-beats  which  each  felt 
must  reach  the  other's  ears.  Stars  more  tender 
than  those  of  heaven  shone  close  to  Graham 
through  the  blue-black  night ;  a  breath  sweeter 


134  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

than  the  wind  stirring  the  honeysuckle  touched 
his  cheek.  At  length  that  silence,  more  musical 
than  sweetest  harmony,  was  broken  by  a  low., 
deep  voice. 

"  May  I  kiss  you?  "  said  the  voice. 

What  was  the  faint  sound  which  the  night 
wind  wafted  to  his  ear?  Was  it  the  whirring  of 
the  humming  birds  whose  nest  hung  close  by? 
Was  it  the  far-off  silver  ripple  of  the  brooklet, 
or  the  cadence  of  the  distant  sheep-bell?  Was 
it  that  sweeter  sound  than  note  of  mating  bird, 
of  falling  water,  or  of  faint  bell-chime,  —  was  it  a 
loving  woman's  "  Yes  "  ? 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"  Oui,  les  premiers  baisers,  oui,  les  premiers  serments 
Que  deux  etres  mortels  echangerent  sur  terre 
Ce  fut  au  pied  d'  un  arbre  effeuille  par  les  vents, 
Sur  un  roc  en  poussiere." 

WHEN  he  awoke  the  next  morning,  John  Graham 
gave  a  deep  sigh.  His  dreams  had  been  so 
sweet  that  no  reality  could  equal  their  happi 
ness.  As  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  narrow  bed 
disentangling  what  was  real  from  what  was 
dream-born  in  his  thoughts,  his  eye  fell  upon 
the  knot  of  roses  which  he  had  taken  from  Milli- 
cent's  hair  the  night  before,  and  had  clasped  to 
his  lips  as  he  fell  asleep.  They  were  faded  now, 
but  they  still  gave  out  a  strong  perfume.  His 
cheek  had  been  wounded  by  a  thorn,  but  he 
kissed  the  wilted  posies,  for  all  that,  placed  the 
little  bouquet  tenderly  in  an  exquisite  Venetian 
vase,  and  then  bounded  down  the  stairway  of 
his  tower  and  across  the  narrow  space  which  led 
to  a  clear  deep  pool  where  a  crystal  stream  fell 
in  a  white  cataract  to  a  rocky  basin.  The  foam- 
bubbles  danced  joyously  in  the  clear  dark  wa 
ters,  and  the  plashing  of  the  fall  had  a  sound  of 
a  sweet  deep  voice  which  had  grown  very  dear 
to  him.  A  mossy  bank,  shaded  by  two  drooping 


136  SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH. 

trees,  sloped  to  the  edge  of  this  natural  bath, 
refreshing  enough  to  have  tempted  Diana  from 
the  chase.  As  Graham  plunged  into  the  cool 
waters  he  shouted  out  a  verse  of  a  song  he  had 
learned  long  ago.  Attracted  by  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  French  John  laid  down  his  axe  beside 
the  young  tree  he  was  about  to  fell,  and  came 
down  to  the  pool  where  Graham  was  vigorously 
tossing  about  the  bright  water.  The  old  wood 
cutter  looked  at  the  young  man  as  if  the  sight 
did  him  good.  He  responded  to  the  uproarious 
greeting  which  the  artist  shouted  to  him,  by  his 
usual  silent  nod  of  the  head.  Had  words  been 
worth  their  weight  in  diamond  dust,  the  old 
soldier  could  not  have  been  more  chary  of  wast 
ing  them,  but  the  look  in  his  faded  blue  eyes 
was  gentle  and  full  of  admiration.  He  had  had 
a  son  of  whom  he  had  lost  all  trace  since  its 
infancy.  If  the  boy  had  lived  he  would  have 
been  about  Graham's  age,  and  it  was  the  man's 
fancy  that  he  would  have  resembled  his  patron. 
He  imagined  he  could  trace  in  the  splendidly 
modelled  arms  and  legs  and  the  strong,  perfectly 
proportioned  torso  of  the  bather  the  shape  into 
which  the  baby  contours  he  remembered  so 
well  must  have  developed.  Graham  had  by 
this  time  gained  the  green  turf  and  stood  shak 
ing  the  water  out  of  his  thick  hair,  drawing 
quick  panting  breaths,  meanwhile,  and  springing 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  137 

about  to  warm  himself,  with  the  grace  and 
strength  of  a  leopard.  The  old  Frenchman 
gave  a  deep  sigh  as  he  looked  at  him. 

"  Yes ;  Hector  certainly  must  resemble  this 
young  man,"  he  murmured,  as  he  wetted  his 
hard  hands,  and,  grasping  the  handle  of  his  axe, 
smote  heavily  at  the  stem  of  a  young  pine-tree. 
Graham  rapidly  made  his  toilet  in  the  open  air. 
The  plunge  in  the  clear  cold  water  had  rather 
stimulated  than  expended  the  electric,  nervous 
force  which  ran  through  his  veins,  quickening 
the  life-blood  in  its  flow.  He  felt  ten  years 
younger  since  yesterday  morning.  His  thirty 
years  and  the  gravity  they  had  brought  to  him 
had  shrunk  to  twenty.  As  he  looked  up  at  his 
tower  he  sang  aloud  a  snatch  of  an  old  song  which 
had  been  often  on  his  lips  in  those  happy,  care 
less  days  in  the  Rue  cC  Enfer,  —  words  which  he 
had  painted  over  the  tiny  grate  in  the  cramped 
apartment  under  the  leads,  where  he  had  suffered 
from  heat  all  summer,  and  shivered  all  winter : 

Dans  un  grenier  qu'  on  est  bien 
A  vingt  ans,  a  vingt  ans  ! 

He  would  have  liked  to  dance.  Had  his  years 
in  truth  been  but  twenty,  he  would  have  yielded 
to  the  temptation.  He  would  gladly  have 
thrown  his  arms  about  the  old  Frenchman,  for 
lack  of  another  confidant,  and  have  told  him  the 
cause  of  his  happiness.  But,  after  all,  this  reflex 


138  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH, 

of  youth  could  not  entirely  melt  the  reserve  of 
manhood  from  him  ;  he  wore  his  thirty  years 
lightly  indeed,  but  could  not  shake  them  off. 

"  Give  me  your  axe,  John ;  I  know  something 
of  your  woodman's  craft ;  let  me  show  you  how 
easily  I  can  fell  this  young  tree." 

He  took  the  tool  from  the  woodcutter,  and, 
whirling  the  sharp  edge  in  the  air,  laid  it  at  the 
root  of  the  tree  with  a  ringing  blow. 

"  It  appears  in  truth  that  monsieur  'ave 
'andled  an  axe  before." 

"  Surely,  John.  I  once  spent  a  summer  with 
some  friends  of  mine,  who  lived  in  a  forest  in 
Brittany  ;  they  were  sabotiers" 

"  Monsieur  is  jesting  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  not  only  can  fell  a  tree, 
—  clumsily  enough,  be  it  confessed,  —  but  if  I 
had  the  tools  I  could  shape  you  a  pair  of  sabots, 
as  good  ones  as  you  could  buy  for  ten  sous  at 
Quimper  ;  that  is  your  town,  I  think  ?  " 

He  talked  in  short,  jerky  sentences  between 
the  strokes,  while  the  white  splinters  flew  about 
him  like  a  hail-storm.  After  a  few  moments  the 
knack  which  he  seemed  at  first  to  have  forgotten 
came  back  to  him.  The  smell  of  the  bruised 
bark  was  aromatic  ;  the  death-sigh  of  the  young 
branches  was  musical  as  they  trembled  for  the 
last  time  together,  reaching  out  to  touch  their 
sister  trees  in  solemn  leave-taking.  Their  sigh 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  139 

was  now  drowned  in  the  groan  of  the  swaying 
tree. 

"  Take  care,  monsieur,  take  care ;  it  is  about 
to  fall,"  cried  the  Frenchman. 

His  warning  was  a  timely  one.  Graham,  so 
long  unused  to  the  exercise  of  the  craft,  had  not 
noticed  how  deeply  he  had  cut  into  the  stem. 
The  straight  tree  seemed  to  hesitate,  tossing  its 
branches  helplessly  heavenward,  and  then  with 
a  creaking  sound  crashed  through  the  surround 
ing  underbrush,  and  with  a  dull  thud  measured  its 
slender  length  upon  the  earth.  For  a  moment 
its  branches  shook  convulsively,  and  then  all 
was  quiet.  It  seemed  as  if  all  nature  paused  at 
the  fall  of  so  fair  a  thing :  the  birds  were  silent 
in  the  thicket ;  the  babble  of  the  water-fall  grew 
faint ;  and  the  wood  creatures  stirred  not  in  their 
burrows.  A  mighty  breeze  crept  through  the 
forest,  rustling  the  surrounding  trees,  wailing 
through  the  open  gap  as  if  in  requiem,  and  a 
light  cloud  floated  over  the  face  of  the  sun, 
throwing  its  shadowy  pall  on  the  spot. 

"  That  was  well  done,  monsieur." 

And,  at  the  sound  of  the  man's  voice,  the 
cloud  floated  by  and  the  sun  shone  out  once 
more,  the  wood  birds  took  up  their  song  again, 
the  squirrel  in  the  hollow  of  the  white  oak  went 
on  cracking  her  nut,  and  the  brief  mourning  was 
over. 


140  SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH. 

That  man  must  feel  himself  indeed  beloved, 
who  fancies  that  the  world  will  pause  as  long 
beside  his  grave  as  does  the  forest  at  the  fall  of 
one  of  its  children. 

Not  until  the  branches  had  been  lopped  off 
and  the  long  stem  cut  into  lengths,  did  Graham 
cease  his  labor.  The  exercise  did  him  good,  and 
gave  him  an  appetite  for  the  breakfast  which  old 
John  served  him  in  the  open  air.  He  declared 
that  the  coffee  was  better  than  could  be  had  at 
the  Cafe  de  Paris  ;  and  assured  John  that  neither 
Paris  nor  Vienna  could  produce  such  bread  as 
that  which  the  old  man  had  baked  in  some  mys 
terious  manner  in  an  oven  of  his  own  construc 
tion,  made  of  flat  stone  sunk  in  the  ground. 
Graham  remembered  that  he  had  somewhere  in 
the  tower  a  bottle  of  rare  old  wine,  which  he 
sent  John  to  fetch. 

"  Bring  my  glass  and  your  tin  cup,  John." 

He  needed  sympathy,  he  who  had  lived  for 
years  without  asking  man  or  woman  to  share  his 
joys  or  sorrows  ;  he  felt  a  new  need  in  himself 
for  human  companionship  ;  and  the  silent  old 
fellow  who  did  his  bidding  was  the  only  soul  to 
whom  he  could  look  for  it.  The  ice  which  had 
encased  his  heart  was  broken ;  and  instead  of 
sternly  demanding  from  his  fellow-men  honor, 
truth,  and  sincerity,  he  embraced  the  whole 
world  in  a  warm,  unquestioning  love  and  sym- 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  141 

pathy.  Yesterday  he  was  a  man  who  labored 
for  his  kind  ;  to-day  he  was  content  to  love  them. 
Yesterday  he  was  a  reformer ;  to-day  he  was  a 
philanthropist.  The  henchman  returning  with 
the  wine,  Graham  filled  the  crystal  goblet  and  the 
humble  cup  to  the  brim,  and  together  these  two 
denizens  of  the  balmy  forest  drank  to  the  new 
day  which  had  dawned  on  the  young  man's  life. 
After  the  long,  black  night  which  for  months 
obscures  the  face  of  nature  in  the  far  northern 
land,  the  first  rising  of  the  sun  touches  the 
hearts  of  men  with  a  deeper,  more  profound  joy 
than  the  dwellers  in  a  temperate  zone  can  well 
understand.  So  was  the  light  of  this  new  love 
more  glorious  a  thousand-fold  to  the  man  in 
whose  life  there  had  so  long  been  darkness,  than 
if  it  had  arisen  in  a  heart  unacquainted  with 
grief.  In  the  first  flush  of  happiness,  his  whole 
nature  rebelled  against  the  joyless  life  he  had 
been  leading  ;  his  work  lost  its  attraction  for 
him,  and  he  could  not  have  painted  a  stroke  that 
day  if  his  whole  future  reputation  had  depended 
upon  it.  The  new  impulse  had  swung  him  far 
out  of  his  accustomed  orbit ;  that  there  might  be 
a  rebound,  he  never  for  an  instant  fancied. 

He  spent  an  hour  in  ransacking  his  tower 
to  find  the  most  beautiful  thing  he  possessed 
to  carry  to  Millicent.  He  wanted  to  go  to  her 
with  something  in  his  hand  that  might  in  some 


142  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

measure  express  the  tide  of  generous  feeling  that 
flooded  his  whole  nature.  He  still  had  a  score 
of  those  treasures,  souvenirs  of  his  European 
residence,  of  which  the  greater  part  had  found 
their  way  to  the  shelves  and  cabinets  of  his 
friends'  houses.  He  spread  them  out  before 
him  on  his  one  table,  ruthlessly  pushing  aside 
paints,  brushes,  books,  and  drawing  chalks,  in  a 
hubbub  of  disorder.  With  an  intense  interest  he 
looked  them  all  through.  He  had  almost  de 
cided  upon  a  rare  Etruscan  coin  which  he  had 
seen  roll  from  the  palm  of  an  exhumed  skeleton, 
when  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  tiny  Tanagrine 
figure.  The  exquisite  modelling  of  this  clay  toy, 
instinct  with  the  beauty  which  pervaded  every 
detail  of  Greek  life,  made  it  a  more  appropriate 
gift.  The  miniature  woman  was  as  truly  pro 
portioned  as  the  Milo  herself,  and  as  surely  con 
structed  according  to  that  greatest  law  of  art 
that  the  world  has  yet  seen  evolved,  the  Greek, 
wherein  are  welded  together  the  real  and  the 
ideal.  A  third  article  now  struck  his  fancy  as 
more  appropriate  than  either  of  these  for  his  first 
gift  to  Millicent.  It  was  a  crown  of  olive  leaves 
of  the  purest  gold,  which  might  have  bound 
Helen's  brow.  It  had  lain  amidst  the  dust  of 
eons  which  covers  Troy  with  its  pall  ;  and  now, 
in  the  nineteenth  century,  it  was  to  serve  as 
the  gift  of  a  California!!  lover  to  his  mistress. 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  143 

Surely,  never  before  had  the  precious  leaves  en 
circled  so  fair  a  head  as  that  which  they  were 
now  destined  to  adorn. 

Among  the  many  sins  which  had  been  laid  at 
Graham's  door  by  friend  or  foe,  the  vice  of  fop 
pery  was  missing.  That  minute  attention  to 
every  detail  of  dress,  which  is  found  as  often 
in  man  as  in  woman,  had  no  place  in  his  busy 
life.  He  was,  however,  always  neatly  dressed  ; 
and  the  prosaic  fashions  of  our  time  were  modi 
fied  as  much  as  possible  in  his  wardrobe,  es 
pecially  while  he  inhabited  the  forest.  On  this 
occasion,  instead  of  one  absent  look  in  his  small 
mirror,  merely  to  ascertain  if  his  hair  were  prop 
erly  parted  and  his  cravat  neatly  tied,  a  full  hour 
was  given  to  the  process  of  dressing.  Every 
suit  of  clothes,  and  each  possible  combination 
of  the  garments  which  his  wardrobe  afforded, 
were  carefully  considered.  When  at  last  the  de 
cision  was  made,  the  vest  needed  a  button,  which 
the  artist  laboriously  attached  to  the  garment. 
Taking  a  coarse  linen  thread  strong  enough  for 
a  halter,  he  made  the  button  fast,  taking  several 
turns  of  the  thread  about  its  eye,  as  if  he  were 
belaying  a  rope.  His  cravat  occupied  him  fully 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  He  must  have  brushed 
his  hair  at  least  half  a  dozen  times.  He  caught 
sight  of  his  anxious  face  in  the  mirror,  just  as  he 
was  settling  his  cravat  for  the  last  time,  and  burst 


144  S^N  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

into  a  peal  of  laughter  at  his  own  dandyism.  At 
the  foot  of  the  tower  his  sturdy  mustang  Tasso 
stood  ready  saddled.  French  John  had  given  an 
extra  polish  to  the  sleek  gray  coat,  bright  enough 
to  reflect  the  silver-studded  Mexican  bridle.  A 
pair  of  red  cockades,  set  at  the  ears  of  the  beast, 
were  made  from  flowers  yielded  by  the  small  gar 
den  patch  behind  the  woodcutter's  cabin,  where 
he  raised  flowers  and  vegetables  for  his  patron 
and  himself.  The  tall  cock  gave  a  condescend 
ing  crow  of  approval  as  Graham  mounted  his 
horse;  while  the  three  cats  sunning  themselves 
near  by  hunched  their  backs  at  him,  as  if  to  ex 
press  their  disapproval  of  his  idleness.  It  was 
still  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  it  was  not  his 
wont  to  sally  forth  until  the  shadows  were  long. 
Where  could  he  be  going  ?  they  asked  one  of  the 
other,  purring  inquisitively  together  like  a  group 
of  women-folk  over  a  cup  of  afternoon  tea.  Of 
all  his  brute  friends,  Tasso  alone  knew  whither 
his  master  was  going ;  he  snorted  scornfully  at 
cats  and  cock,  and,  shaking  his  head  playfully, 
sped  over  the  bridle  path  with  flying  feet,  as  if 
conscious  of  the  eyes  that  were  watching  for 
him,  the  ears  that  were  strained  to  catch  the 
first  faint  echo  of  his  hoofs  as  they  flashed  over 
the  stony  orchard  road. 

Those  sweet  eyes  had  not  closed  since  they 
had  last  looked  into  Graham's  ;  that  white  form 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  145 

had  known  no  rest   since  it  had  slipped    from 
his  arms.     The  night,  which  had  brought  to  him 
such  peaceful  dreams,  was    fraught  with   bitter 
memories  to  Millicent     She  had  paced  her  room 
through  the  long  hours.     No  longer  a  half-yield 
ing,  shrinking  maiden,  but  a  woman,  full  of  tears, 
before   whom    some  great    sorrow,   long   stifled, 
had  risen  up  again.     Was  her  nature  then  two 
fold  ?     While   she  was  with  other  people,  Mil 
licent  seemed  a  strong,  self-reliant  woman,  pure 
and  cold,  with  quick  intellectual  sympathies,  and 
strong  opinions  and  convictions.     When  in  the 
society  of  the  man  she  loved,  his  influence  un 
folded  the  closed  petals  of  her  heart  as  the  sun 
kisses  back  the  white  leaves  of  the  daisy,  and 
uncovers  its  great  golden  centre  to  the  eyes  of 
all  men.     A  new  warmth  shone  from  her  eyes, 
and    softened  her   silver   voice.     An  unwonted 
shyness  made  her  shrinking  and  timid  under  his 
gaze.     A  new  life  was  born  within  her,  so  much 
stronger  and  more  intense  than  any  that  she  had 
ever  known,  that  her  past  existence  paled  before 
it  as  the  luminous  circle  of  a  night-lamp  fades 
before  the  strong  rays  of  morning.     But  when 
she  was  alone.  .  .  . 

Whatever  her  sombre  thoughts  had  been,  they 
were  banished  before  she  next  met  her  lover. 
When  she  learned  that  he  had  come,  she  longed 
to  fly  from  him  out  into  the  dim  reaches  of  the 

10 


146  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

forest,  where  he  had  told  her  half  in  jest  that 
they  had  lived  and  loved  before  man's  time 
began  ;  when  nymphs  and  dryads  danced  to 
gether  in  the  shade  of  the  oak-trees  ;  when  Pan 
reigned,  and  the  earth  was  young.  If  she  could 
have  seen  him  in  her  own  sanctum,  where  the 
light  was  softened  by  the  dull  green  hanging  of 
the  wall,  where  the  air  was  warm  from  the  ever- 
flaming  fire,  and  sweet  with  the  spices  burning 
in  a  great  sea-shell,  she  would  not  have  greatly 
cared  ;  but  the  stereotyped  drawing-room,  with  its 
blank  white  walls,  was  no  place  for  their  greeting. 
She  went  down  the  stairway  and  stood  a  mo 
ment  before  Graham ;  then,  as  he  advanced  to 
wards  her  as  if  about  to  speak,  she  glided  swiftly 
from  the  room  across  the  hall  and  out  into  the 
sunlight. 

Barbara,  standing  near  by,  scattering  corn  to  a 
flock  of  tame  doves  which  fluttered  about  her, 
laughed  as  the  light  figure  flitted  by,  with  bare 
head,  and  delicate  silken  draperies  fit  only  to 
rustle  over  soft  carpets.  Barbara  laughed  pleas 
antly,  cheerily  calling  over  her  shoulder  to  her 
mother,  who  sat  indoors,  — 

"  Look  at  Millicent  racing  with  her  own 
shadow." 

"  'T  is  a  substantial  shadow,  Bab,  but  other 
wise  the  simile  's  good,"  said  Hal,  as  he  passed 
by  on  his  way  to  the  dairy. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  147 

And  Barbara  looked  again,  and  looking  sighed. 
Another  figure  had  sped  by  her,  down  the  orchard 
road  towards  the  wood,  —  the  figure  of  a  man. 
pursuing  the  flying  girl,  with  kindled  face  and 
fleet  steps.  She  threw  her  last  handful  of  grain 
to  the  circling  doves,  went  into  the  stiff  drawing- 
room,  mechanically  set  straight  the  disordered 
chairs  and  drew  down  a  shade  where  the  light 
fell  too  hotly  upon  a  breadth  of  carpet.  She 
paused  before  a  mirror  and  looked  at  her  own 
pretty  face  clouded  by  a  pain  she  would  not 
explain.  More  than  one  lover  had  sued  for 
her  hand,  earnestly  and  tenderly,  but  she  had 
listened  to  no  suit.  No  man  had  ever  pur 
sued  her  with  fleet  steps  and  sparkling  eyes,  no 
man  had  ever  brought  that  expression  of  half- 
shamed  happiness  to  her  face  which  had  made 
Millicent  look  just  now  like  a  child  racing  with 
her  own  shadow. 

In  the  forest  Graham  found  her  standing 
breathless  beneath  an  oak-tree,  whose  branches 
had  caught  her  gown  and  forced  her  to  stay  her 
flight. 

"  Again  under  that  terrible  oak-;  but  I  shall 
not  lose  you  this  time.  Say  that  you  will  not 
vanish  in  his  jealous  arms." 

"He  opens  them  tome  no  longer;  he  offers 
me  no  refuge  now." 

"  And  I  stand  waiting  for  you,  and  hold  out 


148  S4  AT  ROSA  RIO  RANCH. 

my  hand  for  yours.  Not  for  a  dance  now  do  I 
ask  it,  but  for  a  happy  walk  which  shall  end 
only  with  our  lives.  Will  you  put  your  hand  in 
mine  ?  " 

For  answer  a  little  warm  palm  creeps  into 
his  broad  fingers ;  and  the  oak-tree  sighs  a  bless 
ing  on  the  betrothal  of  which  he  is  the  only 
witness. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  And  in  the  forest  delicate  clerks,  unbrowned, 
Sleep  on  the  fragrant  brush  as  on  down-beds. 
Up  with  the  dawn,  they  fancied  the  light  air 
That  circled  freshly  in  their  forest  dress 
Made  them  to  boys  again." 

THE  life  of  John  Graham  had  been  one  wherein 
the  sorrowful  days  far  outnumbered  the  joyous 
ones.  His  youth  had  been  .saddened  by  the  re 
verses  and  griefs  which  had  pursued  his  parents 
with  a  relentless  persistence.  His  home  life 
had  not  been  a  happy  one.  In  the  large  family 
of  brothers  and  sisters  there  had  been  a  meet 
ing  and  clashing  of  strong,  positive  characters 
and  opposing  wills.  An  intense  family  pride 
was  the  one  bond  which  united  them.  This  senti 
ment,  almost  amounting  to  a  passion,  made  the 
members  cling  closely  to  one  another  when  there 
was  little  of  sympathy  to  make  a  sweeter  bond. 
Graham's  parents  had  moved  to  California,  from 
the  Eastern  town  where  they  were  both  born, 
while  he  was  still  an  infant.  The  first  sixteen 
years  of  his  life  had  been  spent  on  the  Pacific 
coast.  At  this  age  he  was  sent  eastward  to  pursue 
his  studies.  The  youth  had  already  determined 
on  devoting  himself  to  art.  The  years  passed 
at  the  famous  New  England  college  were  very 


ISO  SAN  EOSARIO  EANCH. 

busy  ones.  The  painful  economies  by  which  his 
beloved  mother  defrayed  his  college  expenses 
were  well  known  to  the  young  man,  and  he  held 
himself  responsible  to  that  dear  and  honored 
parent  for  every  hour  of  his  time.  His  active 
mind  eagerly  grasped  such  fruits  of  knowledge 
as  were  offered  by  that  garden  of  learning,  and 
his  career  in  the  university  fully  repaid  the  sacri 
fices  which  it  had  entailed.  During  all  this  time 
he  never  for  an  instant  relinquished  his  fixed  de 
termination  to  become  a  painter.  In  the  leisure 
hours  when  his  companions  were  amusing  them 
selves  according  to  their  several  tastes,  Graham 
was  always  found  at  his  easel.  Some  wiseacre 
once  suggested  to  the  young  man  that  Greek 
and  Latin  were  expensive  acquirements,  likely  to 
prove  useless  to  a  painter. 

"And  if  I  were  to  be  a  shoemaker,  I  should 
make  better  shoes  for  having  studied  the  clas 
sics,"  was  his  reply  to  this  admonition. 

He  had  not  been  among  the  popular  men  of 
his  class,  being  very  poor  in  leisure  time,  the 
currency  which  buys  that  most  expensive  com 
modity,  popularity.  He  made  few  friends  and 
no  enemies.  His  strong,  earnest  nature  com 
manded  the  respect  of  his  fellows  ;  and  his  stu 
dious  example  endeared  him  to  a  few  of  the 
most  serious  among  them.  At  the  age  of  twenty 
Graham  went  to  Europe,  where  he  passed  the 


SAN  R  OS  A  RIO  RANCH.  151 

next  eight  years  of  his  life  in  study  and  hard 
work.  The  sketches  which  he  sent  home 
brought  him  money  enough  to  live  on  in  that 
quarter  of  Paris  where  the  young  art  students 
congregate.  Poor  enough  the  living  had  some 
times  been  ;  hunger  and  cold  were  well  known 
to  the  youth  by  actual  experience.  When  he 
lived  at  the  rate  of  five  francs  a  day  he  thought 
himself  rich,  and  gave  suppers  in  his  studio,  an 
cinquieme,  Rue  cT  Enfer.  Times  there  had  been, 
while  he  was  at  work  upon  his  great  Salon 
picture  of  St.  Paul,  when  a  loaf  of  bread  and 
five  sous'  worth  of  the  rough  red  wine  of  the 
people,  had  sufficed  for  his  day's  provender. 
Those  days  of  earnest  work  among  the  gay  com 
panions,  whose  lives  much  resembled  his  own, 
were,  perhaps,  the  happiest  time  in  the  life 
of  the  young  artist.  Success  had  not  been 
wanting  to  crown  his  efforts.  The  picture  on 
which  he  toiled  for  weary  days  and  months  re 
ceived  "honorable  mention"  from  the  judges  of 
the  Salon;  and  to  the  passing  fame  which  this 
success  brought  him,  he  owed  his  introduction  to 
the  woman  who  had  so  spoiled  the  happiness  of 
his  youth.  She  was  his  compatriot,  the  daugh 
ter  of  a  rich  Parisian  American,  who  desired  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  artist  hero  of  the 
hour.  The  young  woman  was  beautiful,  heart 
less,  and  slightly  emotional.  While  in  the  so- 


152  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

ciety  of  the  handsome,  spiritual  painter,  she 
yielded  to  the  charm  his  strong  spirit  exercised 
over  her  ;  and  it  was  not  long  before  their  names 
were  linked  together  by  the  small  world  which 
knew  them  both.  But  Graham's  happiness  was 
short-lived ;  and  a  few  months  served  to  show 
him  the  cold,  shallow  nature  of  the  woman  who 
had  aroused  his  first  passion.  After  he  had  been 
jilted  and  disillusioned,  he  turned  his  back  upon 
the  city  where  he  had  learned  and  suffered  so 
much,  and  became  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  Eu 
rope.  One  year  found  him  painting  the  beauties 
of  Southern  Spain  ;  the  next  saw  him  sketch 
ing  the  wonderful  scenery  which  lies  about 
Stockholm. 

About  two  years  before  the  opening  of  our 
story  he  had  returned  to  San  Francisco,  with 
a  portfolio  of  sketches,  a  few  hundred  dollars, 
and  a  prodigious  store  of  canvases,  paints,  and 
brushes.  He  was  welcomed  by  the  many  friends 
who  had  followed  his  career  with  interest,  and 
soon  received  more  orders  for  portraits  than  he 
could  well  fill.  His  taste  led  him  to  prefer  an 
other  branch  of  painting  ;  and  it  was  for  the  pur 
pose  of  studying  the  very  beautiful  scenery  in  the 
neighborhood  of  San  Rosario  that  he  had  estab_ 
lished  himself  in  the  tower  of  the  old  Spanish 
Mission.  He  was  also  partly  induced  to  take 
this  step,  because  he  found  that  home  life,  always 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  153 

irksome  to  him,  had  become,  after  his  long  eman 
cipation  from  domestic  rules  and  regulations, 
wellnigh  intolerable. 

Graham's  character  was  a  peculiar  one,  full  of 
contradictory  traits  ;  it  might  be  compared  to 
a  mass  of  white  quartz,  through  which  ran  deep 
veins  of  the  purest  gold.  In  some  respects  it 
was  a  hard  nature,  with  certain  tender  qualities  ; 
and  nowhere  was  there  to  be  found  an  ounce  of 
base  metal  ;  a  pitiless  nature,  which  knew  not 
how  to  forgive  either  its  own  faults  or  those  of 
his  fellow-men.  If  his  judgments  of  others  were 
harsh,  his  self-despair  was  sometimes  fanatical. 
His  ideal  of  manhood  was  as  pure  and  noble  as 
was  that  of  the  perfect  King  Arthur;  that  he 
failed  a  hundred  times  a  day  in  living  up  to 
it,  had  not  the  effect  of  lowering  that  ideal  one 
hair's-breadth.  His  highest  duty  was  towards  his 
own  soul  and  its  struggle  to  reach  the  perfection 
he  held  it  to  be  capable  of  attaining.  With 
the  mind  of  an  ascetic,  he  was  endowed  with  a 
warm,  sensuous  temperament,  having  a  passion 
ate  delight  in  beauty,  light,  and  color,  and  ca 
pable  of  living  through  the  senses  with  the  keen 
enjoyment  of  a  Sybarite.  A  strain  of  music,  a 
beautiful  flower,  or  a  fair  child  moved  him  to  a 
degree  of  pleasure  that  to  any  nature  save  an 
artistic  one  was  incomprehensible.  Filled  with 
pity  at  the  sight  of  distress,  he  would  unhesitat- 


154  SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH. 

ingly  give  his  last  dollar  to  a  needy  rascal  ;  but 
if  appealed  to  for  sympathy  by  the  same  sinner, 
the  scorching  contempt  by  which  he  would  blast 
the  shameful  deeds  for  which,  to  him,  there  was 
no  palliation,  would  leave  the  wrong-doer  a  sad 
der  if  not  a  wiser  man.  Because  he  expected 
so  much  of  men,  their,  short-comings  outraged 
him.  To  a  man  of  this  character  it  was  easier,  if 
not  better,  to  avoid  the  paths  of  his  fellows ;  and 
his  life  had  often  been  that  of  a  hermit,  even 
when  he  dwelt  in  the  busiest  cities  of  the  world. 
Not  willing  that  one  shadow  from  the  burden 
of  his  life  should  fall  upon  the  paths  of  those 
who  cared  for  him,  his  voice  and  face  were 
always  cheery  when  in  their  company.  He 
wanted  not  the  sympathy  of  man  or  woman,  and 
endured  what  griefs  were  given  him  to  bear  in 
silence  and  alone.  That  divine  mandate,  "  Bear 
ye  one  another's  burdens,"  was  meaningless  to 
him  ;  for  he  had  ever  borne  his  burden  unsup 
ported  and  unhelped.  The  struggle  between 
the  two  sides  of  his  nature,  the  ascetic  and  the 
poetic,  seemed  sometimes  like  to  rend  soul  and 
body  apart  ;  at  other  times  both  contending 
forces  seemed  asleep,  and  the  current  of  his  life 
flowed  peacefully  on.  There  were  periods  when 
the  tender  golden  veins  seemed  to  overlap  and 
hide  the  flinty  quartz  ;  then  he  felt  alive,  with 
thrilling  pulses  and  lips  breaking  into  song  ;  then 


.  SAN  ROSARIO  EANCH.  155 

he  painted  rapidly,  painlessly,  achieving  quick  suc 
cesses,  sometimes  making  brilliant  failures.  At 
other  periods  hyper-criticism  of  himself  seemed 
to  weight  his  brush  and  dim  his  vision,  to  take 
the  color  from  the  warm  earth  and  tender  sky  ; 
then  the  life-blood  pulsed  slowly  through  his 
veins,  and  he  forgot  to  sing. 

Into  the  existence  of  this  self-centred  being, 
with  its  extremes  of  cold  and  warmth,  few  per 
sonal  influences  had  crept ;  and  now,  for  the  first 
time  in  many  years,  he  felt  his  life  to  have  be 
come  entangled,  for  good  or  ill,  with  that  of  an 
other  human  creature.  Since  his  first  meeting 
with  Millicent,  on  that  memorable  night  when  he 
had  found  her  the  central  figure  of  a  picture  of 
warmth  and  comfort,  his  frozen  existence  had 
been  thawed  and  made  happy  by  the  subtle  in 
fluence  which  she  wielded  over  him.  Without 
reasoning  with  himself,  he  had  yielded  to  the 
pleasurable  charm,  only  amazed,  and  perhaps 
a  little  glad,  to  find  that  there  was  a  woman 
who  could  rob  him  of  his  well-earned  sleep, 
and  dance  through  his  dreams  at  night  with  a 
wilful  persistence.  If  he  had  been  obliged  to 
characterize  the  influence  which  the  girl  held 
over  him,  he  would  probably  have  said  that  she 
made  his  life  vivid,  and  reminded  him  that  his 
nature  was  human  and  not  mechanical.  Day 
by  day  her  presence  became  more  necessary  to 


156  SAN    ROSAR10  RANCH. 

him  ;  and  his  work  was  slighted,  or  hastily  per 
formed,  in  order  that  he  might  be  free  the  sooner 
to  reach  her  side.  Without  retrospection  or 
introspection  he  had  lived  through  the  pleasant 
days  at  San  Real,  when  Millicent's  heroic  be 
havior  had  made  him  feel  doubly  grateful  to 
her :  he  now  owed  her  his  life,  as  well  as  the 
new  pleasure  in  that  life.  When  the  happy 
visit  had  come  to  an  end,  and  he  had  parted  with 
her  after  the  return  to  the  Ranch,  it  had  seemed 
as  if  he  could  not  leave  her  as  a  friend  only. 
That  one  swift,  silent  embrace  had  broken  the 
peaceful  contract  of  friendship ;  and  he  had  sealed 
the  tumultuous  untried  bond  of  love  upon  her 
lips. 

Since  that  white  night  with  its  unspoken  pro 
testation,  Time  seemed  to  have  taken  unto  him 
self  new,  strong  wings,  on  which  he  bore  the 
lovers  through  the  bright  weeks  of  the  spring 
tide  of  love  all  too  swiftly.  Few  words  of  ex 
planation  had  been  necessary ;  each  understood 
the  other,  except  when  that  chill,  impalpable 
something  seemed  to  come  between  them  like  a 
cloud,  as  it  had  done  in  the  first  days  of  their 
acquaintance.  The  one  note  which  was  never 
absolutely  in  tune  in  their  love  harmony,  at 
these  times  made  a  discord,  and  disagreements 
which  grieved  them  both  sprang  up  between 
them ;  but  these  were  rare,  and  the  pale  face  of 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  1 57 

the  artist  was  less  shadowy  than  in  other  days  ; 
while  Millicent  seemed  transformed  from  a  statue 
to  a  living  being,  with  a  heart  tender  and  full  of 
love  towards  all  her  kind.  But  her  cheek  grew 
less  round  than  it  had  been  in  the  days  before 
this  new  life  was  poured  into  her  veins,  and  long, 
sleepless  vigils  told  upon  her  strength.  She  was 
happy  with  a  joy  of  which  she  had  never  before 
dreamed,  and  yet  weary  nights  of  weeping  traced 
dark  circles  about  her  eyes.  What  struggle 
could  it  be  that  left  her  pale  and  broken,  and 
drew  pitiful  sighs  from  her  white  lips  when  she 
found  herself  between  the  four  walls  of  her  own 
room  ?  One  word  from  Graham,  the  sound  of 
his  horse's  hoofs  as  he  drew  near  the  house, 
would  banish  the  pained  look,  call  back  the  color 
to  the  lips  and  cheek,  and  give  the  old  bright 
ness  to  her  deep  eyes  ;  but  when  he  was  gone, 
the  painful  thoughts  winged  swiftly  back  to 
torture  her. 

To  the  sweet,  open-hearted  Barbara,  Millicent's 
state  of  mind  was  incomprehensible.  The  cool, 
indifferent,  somewhat  scornful  girl  had  been 
transformed  into  an  excitable,  impulsive  creature, 
always  in  one  of  the  extremes  of  spirits,  by  turns 
gay  with  a  gayety  contagious,  irresistible,  com 
mitting  every  sort  of  extravagance ;  and  again 
serious  with  a  tragic  sadness,  more  pathetic 
than  the  wildest  weeping.  Mrs.  Deering,  with 


158  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

that  sublime  unconsciousness  which  sympa 
thetic  women  know  how  to  assume  at  will,  saw 
nothing. 

The  happy  summer  weeks  slipped  all  too 
rapidly  away,  and  the  last  days  of  August  were 
come.  It  was  at  this  time  that  a  long-planned 
excursion  took  place,  and  the  family  of  the  San 
Rosario  Ranch  went  to  pass  the  day  with  some 
friends  who  were  camping  out  at  a  distance  of 
fifteen  miles  from  the  house.  Ever  since  her 
arrival  in  California,  Millicent  had  heard  of  Mau 
rice  Galbraith,  a  friend  of  the  family,  whom  a 
combination  of  circumstances  had  prevented  her 
from  meeting.  It  was  to  his  camp'  that  they 
were  wending  their  way  when  Graham  joined 
them  on  horseback,  as  they  drove  down  the 
shaded  road  which  passes  through  the  great 
grove  of  redwoods,  and  leads  to  the  dusty  high 
way.  Millicent  was  driving  in  the  light  phaeton 
with  young  Deering ;  Barbara  and  her  mother 
following  in  the  large  wagon  driven  by  Pedro, 
one  of  the  Mexican  helpers.  Crouching  on  the 
floor  of  the  wagon  behind  the  seats  sat  Ah  Lam, 
with  his  spotless  linen  and  shining  coppery  coun 
tenance.  He  could  not  sit  beside  the  "  Greaser," 
or  Mexican,  and  this  lowly  place  was  allotted 
him.  His  round,  placid  face,  with  its  clear  brown 
skin  and  oblique  eyes,  was  not  an  unpleasing 
one.  His  hands  and  arms  were  finely  modelled, 


SAN  ROSARIO  EANCH.  159 

and  his  sturdy  figure  was  of  a  much  more  solid 
type  than  is  usual  with  his  race.  From  his  posi 
tion  it  was  possible  for  him  to  hold  a  parasol 
over  Mrs.  Deeririg,  which  he  did  without  vary 
ing  the  angle  of  the  rather  heavy  umbrella  one 
degree  during  the  whole  long  journey.  He  had 
been  taught  that  hardest  of  lessons  for  the 
Chinaman,  —  that  obedience  and  respect  to  the 
ladies  of  the  family  are  even  more  necessary 
than  submission  to  the  master.  On  his  arrival 
at  the  Ranch  he  had  coolly  and  placidly  ignored 
all  orders  given  him  by  the  female  members  of 
the  household  as  unworthy  of  notice.  When  he 
finally  had  learned  the  lesson  that  "  Melican 
woman  boss  too,"  he  had  never  failed  in  respect 
to  the  ladies. 

The  drive  was  a  beautiful  one.  The  road  led 
through  deep  valleys,  still  wet  with  the  night 
dew  ;  sometimes  it  curled  around  the  side  of  a 
mountain  which  barred  its  progress,  and  again 
it  plunged  down  to  the  level  of  a  swift  stream. 
There  was  a  certain  spot  where  Millicent,  who 
was  familiar  with  the  first  five  miles  of  the  route, 
always  stopped  for  a  few  moments.  Sphinx 
had  grown  accustomed  to  bring  his  sleepy 
gait  to  a  standstill  just  at  the  brink  of  the 
bridge  which  spanned  the  rushing  forest  river, 
grown  boisterous  at  this  place.  All  about  the 
spot  stood  the  great  hills,  some  green  with  the 


160  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

never-fading  redwoods  and  madrone  trees,  others, 
stripped  by  the  woodman's  craft,  naked  and  un 
sightly.  Behind  them  stretched  the  hot,  red 
high-road,  with  its  group  of  humble  cabins. 
In  front  of  one  of  these  a  group  of  strange, 
wolfish-looking  children  had  called  a  greeting  to 
Pedro,  the  driver,  who  was  of  their  kin.  The 
narrow,  weather-beaten  bridge,  with  its  shaky 
wooden  piers,  joined  the  highway  over  which 
they  had  come,  to  a  forest  road  which  hung 
over  the  stream  and  skirted  the  mountain's 
base.  The  gray  ruin  of  what  had  once  been  a 
mill  stood  on  the  farther  bank,  with  rusty,  idle 
wheels  and  empty  grain-bins.  There  was  a 
small  islet  in  the  stream,  between  which  and 
the  near  bank  was  a  clear  pool  which  reflected 
with  perfect  distinctness  the  trees  and  rocks, 
the  very  ferns  and  marsh  flowers  of  the  over 
hanging  bank.  Here  the  party  paused  for  a 
few  moments,  enjoying  the  familiar  beauty  of 
the  scene. 

"  You  will  paint  this  place  one  day  for  me, 
will  you  not  ?  I  care  very  much  for  it."  Milli- 
cent  was  the  speaker ;  and  the  artist  close  at  her 
side  laughed  and  answered,  — 

"  Your  will,  of  course,  is  my  law,  lady  ;  but 
when  you  can  teach  the  bird  on  yonder  twig 
a  new  song,  you  can  perhaps  choose  a  spot 
where  a  painter  shall  see  a  picture.  Much 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  l6l 

that  is  beautiful  in  nature  cannot  be  portrayed 
in  art." 

For  a  moment  longer  they  paused  on  the 
bank,  little  thinking  how  that  scene  would  be 
graven  on  their  memories  in  after  days  ;  and  then 
Hal  brandished  his  whip,  and  Sphinx  started  off 
at  a  brisk  trot,  the  strong  mules  following  at  the 
top  of  their  speed,  while  Graham  led  the  way 
on  his  fleet  mustang.  It  was  not  far  from  high 
noon  when  the  party  arrived  at  the  place  of  des 
tination,  recognized  by  a  flag  floating  above  the 
low  underbrush  at  the  foot  of  a  hill.  In  reply 
to  Hal's  lusty  hallooing,  a  young  man  emerged 
from  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  and  waving  his 
hat  in  greeting,  hurried  to  help  Mrs.  Deering 
descend  from  the  wagon. 

"  How  late  you  are,  good  people ! "  he  cried  in 
a  pleasant  voice.  "  The  fellows  thought  you  were 
going  to  disappoint  us  ;  but  I  had  too  much  faith 
in  your  word,  Mrs.  Deering,  to  doubt  you.  Miss 
Deering,  you  were  too  quick  for  me ;  your  agility 
is  only  excelled  by  your  grace.  Well,  Graham, 
glad  to  see  you  ;  for  once  you  are  better  than 
your  word." 

The  young  men  shook  hands  with  that  punc 
tilious  politeness  which  gentlemen  who  do  not 
quite  like  each  other  are  apt  to  show  in  the 
presence  of  mutual  lady  friends.  Deering  pre 
sented  their  host  to  Miss  Almsford,  and  at  that 


162  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

moment  the  other  two  woodmen  made  their  ap 
pearance, —  Michael  O'Neil,  a  jolly-looking  young 
Irishman,  and  Dick  Hartley,  a  dark-browed  Eng 
lishman.  The  three  men  were  intimates  at 
the  Ranch,  and  Millicent  already  knew  O'Neil 
and  Hartley;  the  latter  was  an  old  friend  and 
travelling-companion  of  Graham.  Leaving  Deer- 
ing  and  O'Neil  to  take  care  of  the  horses,  Gal- 
braith  led  the  way  to  the  camp,  a  sheltered  spot 
on  the  south  side  of  the  protecting  hill.  Three 
small  sleeping-tents  here  stood  close  together. 
Galbraith's  was  the  central  one  ;  it  was  wonder 
fully  luxurious,  Millicent  thought,  with  its  com 
fortable  rug  and  little  iron  bedstead,  two  chairs, 
and  a  writing-table.  A  small  looking-glass  had 
been  brought  from  town  "on  purpose  for  the  visit 
of  the  ladies,"  Hartley  assured  them  ;  at  which 
statement  there  was  a  general  laugh  at  the 
young  Englishman's  expense,  his  personal  vanity 
being  well  known.  But  it  was  of  the  greenwood 
drawing-room  that  the  ladies  expressed  the 
highest  approval.  A  square  space  of  ground 
had  been  cleared  of  the  dense  undergrowth,  its 
smooth  surface  being  thickly  carpeted  by  soft 
piles  of  fresh,  sweet  ferns.  Close-growing 
shrubs  and  bushes  served  as  walls,  while  the 
thick  branches  of  the  great  trees  made  a  roof 
close  enough  to  keep  out  the  heat  of  the  sun. 
The  flowers  of  the  manzanita  and  the  buckeye 


SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH.  163 

perfumed  the  air  of  this  sylvan  boudoir,  wherein 
were  ranged  comfortable  stools  and  camp-chairs. 
A  wide  hammock  fitted  with  a  red  blanket 
swung  between  two  straight  tree  stems.  Here 
they  sat  for  a  while,  resting  from  the  long  drive  ; 
and  here  it  was  that  Millicent  had  time  to  ob 
serve  more  particularly  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
Maurice  Galbraith,  of  whom  she  had  heard  so 
much.  Galbraith  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  a 
handsome  man,  though  he  had  a  good  deal  of 
beauty.  He  was  tall  and  slender,  with  a  finely 
shaped  head,  well  set  upon  the  shoulders.  His 
bright,  intelligent  face  was  too  thin  for  beauty  ; 
while  the  fine,  brilliant  eyes,  with  their  heavy 
lashes,  were  hollow  from  over-work.  His  deli 
cate  chin  and  mouth  were  exquisitely  modelled  ; 
while  the  nose  seemed  a  trifle  over-large  through 
the  extreme  thinness  of  the  face.  The  features 
in  repose  were  almost  stern  in  their  look  of 
concentrated  thought;  but  when  he  laughed  it 
was  with  the  sudden  merriment  of  a  child,  the 
mouth  parting  over  the  small  white  teeth,  and 
the  large,  dark,  hollow  eyes  flashing  cheerily. 
Barely  over  thirty,  he  might  have  passed  for 
some  years  older,  an  unflagging  attention  to  his 
arduous  profession  having  told  somewhat  upon 
his  strength.  Among  the  lawyers  on  the  Pacific 
coast,  Galbraith  was  considered  a  rising  man, 
his  late  appointment  to  a  district  attorneyship 


164  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

proving  the  confidence  which  he  enjoyed.     Milli- 
cent  thought  him  decidedly  the  most  attractive 
of  their  hosts ;  but  her  quick  intuition  had  already 
told  her  that  Graham  felt  little  cordiality  towards 
him,  and  she  spoke  chiefly  to  Hartley,  the  rather 
insignificant  "  beauty  man  "  of  the  camp.     From 
him  she  learned  that  for  several  years  the  trio 
of  friends  had  passed  the  summer  months  in 
camping  out  at  some  spot  not  far  distant  from 
the  railroad,  which  carried  them  every  morning 
to  San  Francisco,  and  which  brought  them  back 
as  early  in  the  afternoon  as  might  be.     Their 
one  henchman  (of  course  a  Chinaman)  was  left 
in  charge  of  the  camp  during  the  day,  and  per 
formed    the   household    work    necessary    to    so 
primitive  a  menage.     Not  far  distant  from  the 
camp,  the  stream   whose  course  they  had  fol 
lowed  spread  out  into  a  wide,  deep  pool,  afford 
ing  an  opportunity  for  a  refreshing  plunge,  with 
which  the  three  friends  were  wont  to  begin  the 
proceedings  of  the  day.     A  breakfast  eaten  at 
the  tent  door  was  followed  by  a  walk  to  the 
station,   half   a   mile    distant,   when    they   bade 
good-by  to  their  sylvan  home.     Four  o'clock,  or 
at  latest  five,  saw  them  on  their  way  from  the 
city;  and  an  hour  or  two  of  angling  in  the  cool 
stream,  wherein  swam  delicious  trout,  or  a  tramp 
through  the  woods  with  a  gun,  brought  them  to 
the  dinner  hour.     Just  at  this  point  in  Hartley's 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  165 

chronicle  of  their  daily  life,  Ah  Lam,  who  had 
been  brought  to  assist  the  one  servant  of  the 
camp  in  his  preparations,  announced  that  dinner 
was  served.  Millicent  never  learned  how  the 
evenings  were  passed  in  camp,  for  there  was 
a  general  move  towards  the  dining-room,  another 
triumph  of  sylvan  architecture.  A  few  paces 
distant  from  the  green  parlor,  but  hidden  from 
it  by  the  thick  intervening  bushes,  was  a  great 
fig-tree  with  wide-spreading  branches  laden  with 
delicious  purple  fruit.  At  the  foot  of  the  tree 
stood  a  table  laid  with  plates,  knives  and  forks, 
and  other  appurtenances  of  civilized  life.  Milli 
cent  gave  a  little  cry  of  delight  at  the  prettily 
decorated  board,  which  was  wreathed  with  a 
garland  of  green  leaves  and  covered  with  bright 
flowers.  Barbara,  who  had  been  reading  Dumas 
with  that  intense  delight  to  which  the  first  ac 
quaintance  with  French  romance  gives  rise,  said 
that  the  banquet  surpassed  the  one  spread  by 
Joseph  Bassano  for  the  Dauphine  of  France  in 
the  old  Chateau.  Millicent  found  herself  at  the 
table  between  Graham  and  the  good-natured 
Irishman,  O'Neil.  Her  lover  seemed  to  her 
handsomer  to-day  among  this  band  of  his  con 
temporaries  than  ever  before  ;  and  she  looked 
at  him  with  her  whole  soul  in  her  eyes,  for 
getting  all  in  the  world  beside  or  beyond  him. 
O'Neil,  who  was  the  wit  of  the  camp,  told  funny 


166  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

stories  at  which  every  one  laughed ;  but  when 
Graham  spoke,  the  men  all  listened,  like  soldiers 
waiting  the  words  of  their  superior.  Before  they 
had  come  to  the  table,  the  artist  had  twined 
a  girdle  for  Millicent's  slender  waist  of  some 
feathery  green  creeper,  a  spray  of  which  she  had 
wreathed  about  her  head.  When  the  red  wine 
was  poured,  Graham  spilled  from  his  glass,  as 
if  by  accident,  a  few  drops  upon  the  earth, 
then,  touching  his  goblet  to  hers,  he  said  in  an 
undertone,  — 

"  We  will  drink  the  old  toast,  my  nymph,  to 
Pan,  evoe,  evoe  /" 

Galbraith  devoted  himself  to  Barbara ;  and  after 
dinner,  when  all  justice  had  been  done  to  the 
woodland  fare,  and  the  great  warm  figs  had  been 
eaten  with  the  sunshine  in  them,  the  party  broke 
up  into  groups.  Graham,  who  had  brought  his 
colors,  made  a  sketch  of  the  view  from  the  hill 
tops,  Millicent  sitting  silently  beside  him,  hand 
ing  him  the  brushes  as  he  required  them,  then 
squeezing  the  little  tubes  of  paint  with  a  childish 
delight.  Barbara  and  Galbraith  made  their  way 
to  the  pool,  where  Miss  Deering  angled  suc 
cessfully,  landing  four  good-sized  trout  within 
the  hour.  Hal  Deering  and  O'Neil  employed 
the  time  in  firing  at  an  ace  of  hearts  pinned  to  a 
tree  ;  while  Hartley  and  Mrs.  Deering  sat  in  the 
green  parlor,  where  the  thoughtful,  motherly 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  167 

woman  put  a  very  necessary  patch  on  one  of 
Galbraith's  coats,  in  which  her  quick  glance 
had  descried  a  rent,  as  it  hung  on  a  peg  in  his 
tent. 

As  the  afternoon  shadows  lengthened,  and  his 
sketch  drew  near  its  completion,  Graham  found 
time  occasionally  to  speak  to  his  companion  sit 
ting  so  quietly  and  contentedly  at  his  side.  The 
absolute  ignoring  of  self  possible  to  this  intelli 
gent  girl,  with  her  strong  mind  and  latent  talents, 
was  incomprehensible  to  him.  She  was  per 
fectly  happy  to  forget  her  individual  existence  in 
a  sympathetic  interest  in  his  work.  He  felt  sure 
that  should  it  please  him  she  would  give  up  her 
music,  her  studies,  every  other  interest  in  life 
and  be  content  to  sit  always  as  now,  watching 
his  work,  giving  a  word  of  intelligent  criticism 
when  asked  to  do  so,  stifling  every  thought  which 
should  cloud  the  mirror  of  her  mind  in  which  he 
might  see  himself  ever  reflected.  To  the  sensi 
tive  man,  who  had  passed  most  of  his  life  in 
solitude,  this  absolute,  unreasoning  devotion  had 
something  intensely  painful  about  it.  If  he  had 
known  how  to  frame  his  thought  he  would  have 
begged  her  to  care  Jess  for  him.  He  felt  him 
self  an  ingrate,  so  poor  a  return  could  he  make 
for  this  wealth  of  love  poured  out  at  his  feet. 
Her  presence  was  a  pleasure  to  him  ;  he  loved  to 
watch  her  graceful  motions  as  she  walked,  and 


168  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

the  beautiful  poses  which  she  all  unconsciously 
took  in  sitting,  standing,  or  moving.  Her  appre 
ciation  of  his  work,  her  understanding  of  himself, 
were  truer  than  ever  man  or  woman  had  shown 
before ;  and  yet  he  sometimes  was  annoyed  by 
the  irksome  feeling  that  what  he  had  to  give  her 
was  but  a  bankrupt's  portion  of  love.  Times 
there  were  when  this  feeling  did  not  intrude 
itself  upon  him  ;  and  the  day  which  was  now 
drawing  to  its  close  was  one  of  those  precious 
ones  wherein  had  been  no  slightest  misunder 
standing  betwixt  them.  When  Hal  came  to 
tell  them  that  it  was  time  to  return,  Graham  put 
up  his  work  with  a  sigh  that  it  must  be  so 
soon  finished,  and  the  two  lovers  lingered  for 
a  moment,  taking  a  last  look  over  the  little 
camp. 

After  bidding  their  hosts  farewell  the  guests 
turned  their  horses  toward  home,  the  larger 
wagon  with  Mrs.  Deering  and  Barbara  leading 
the  way.  Sphinx,  whose  best  days  were  over, 
was  tired  ;  and  Millicent  soon  lost  sight  of  the 
swift  mule  team.  Graham  rode  a  little  in  ad 
vance  of  the  carriage,  leaving  the  place  at  Mil 
licent' s  side  to  Mr.  Galbraith,  who  had  volun 
teered  to  accompany  them  for  a  part  of  the 
journey.  She  found  him  a  most  attractive  person, 
and  was  much  interested  in  his  conversation. 
He  told  her  anecdotes  of  the  primitive  justice 


SAN  EOS  A  RIO  RANCH.  169 

which  prevailed  in  certain  remote  districts  of 
the  State,  and  gave  some  personal  reminiscences 
of  his  earliest  cases,  in  which  he  had  been  called 
upon  to  defend  or  accuse  criminals  of  the  most 
desperate  class.  Galbraith  talked  with  that  sort 
of  brilliancy  which  requires  sympathetic  atten 
tion  from  his  hearers,  and  for  the  first  three  miles 
of  the  road  he  was  able  to  win  this  from  Miss 
Almsford.  When,  however,  the  girl's  eyes  wan 
dered  from  his  intelligent  face  to  the  man  on 
horseback  half  a  dozen  rods  in  advance,  and  she 
mentally  compared  the  strong,  elastic  figure  of 
the  distant  horseman  to  the  man  at  her  side, 
Galbraith  found  that  it  was  time  to  return  to  the 
camp  and  "leave  them  to  their  own  fate."  Milli- 
cent's  parting  words  were  doubly  gracious  to  the 
young  lawyer,  from  the  fact  that  she  thought  his 
departure  would  bring  her  lover  to  her.  In  this 
hope  she  was  however  disappointed,  for  Graham 
was  in  one  of  those  moods  when  silence  was  more 
attractive  to  him  than  Hal's  amusing  companion 
ship.  He  would  have  liked  to  have  Millicent  all 
to  himself  on  that  pleasant  homeward  ride  ;  but 
Millicent  with  the  inevitable  addition  of  Deering 
could  not  win  him  to  her  side.  Suddenly  the 
two  in  the  carriage  saw  Graham's  horse  give  a 
wild  rear  and  plunge,  after  which  he  shied  at 
some  unseen  object  by  the  roadside  with  a  force 
which  would  have  unseated  any  ordinary  horse- 


1 70  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

man.  The  animal  now  stood  for  an  instant 
trembling  in  every  limb,  and  then  seemed  to 
fling  himself  and  his  rider  in  a  perfect  agony 
of  terror  down  the  high-road,  his  four  feet  beat 
ing  out  the  startling  measure  of  a  break-neck 
gallop  to  Millicent's  horrified  ears.  From  the 
cloud  of  dust,  and  through  the  cadence  of  the 
mustang's  hoofs,  these  words  were  shouted  back 
to  them,  — 

"  Look  out  for  rattlesnakes  !  " 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  spot  where 
Graham's  horse  had  taken  fright ;  and  old  Sphinx 
shivered  violently,  tossing  his  head  and  snorting 
loudly.  In  a  few  moments,  it  seemed  to  Millicent 
an  eternity,  Graham  rejoined  them,  having  re 
gained  control  over  his  fiery  horse. 

"  Deering,  stand  by  Sphinx's  head  and  hold 
my  horse,  will  you  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  John  Graham  dismounted,  pulled 
his  high  boots  over  his  knees,  and  seizing  the 
heavy  whip  from  the  carriage,  advanced  cau 
tiously  to  the  edge  of  the  road,  while  Hal  soothed 
the  startled  horses.  Millicent,  left  alone  in  the 
wagon,  gave  a  low  cry  of  terror.  Graham  was  at 
her  side  in  an  instant. 

"  Dear  one,  you  must  help  me  with  your  cour 
age  ;  do  not  be  afraid,  there  is  really  no  danger," 
he  murmured.  She  was  silent,  and  tried  to 
smile  an  answer. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  1 7l 

Graham  now  walked  slowly  along  the  road, 
looking  intently  into  the  grass  which  lined  the 
highway.  Suddenly  the  dread  sound  of  the 
rattle  was  heard,  awful  alike  to  man  and  beast. 
Sphinx  started  again,  but  was  soon  quieted,  while 
Tasso  reared  and  gave  a  shriek  of  terror.  Gra 
ham,  raising  his  heavy  whip,  brought  the  thong 
with  a  tremendous  force  across  the  snake's  body. 
The  creature  reared  itself  with  blazing  eyes  and 
sprang  towards  its  pursuer,  who  dealt  it  another 
blow  ;  and  before  it  could  coil  itself  for  a  second 
spring,  Graham  ran  forward,  and  with  his  iron 
boot-heel  crushed  the  reptile's  head  into  the 
dust.  He  soon  despatched  the  writhing  creature, 
and  was  stooping  to  cut  the  rattles  from  its  life 
less  body,  when  a  warning  cry  from  Millicent 
told  him  that  the  battle  was  not  over.  The 
mate  of  the  dead  snake  was  close  beside  him, 
ready  to  spring  upon  his  stooping  body.  He 
straightened  himself,  and  ran  backwards,  firing 
his  revolver  as  he  went.  The  shot  missed  the 
snake,  whose  rattle  rang  out  a  very  death-knell. 
It  leaped  savagely  towards  him.  Graham  had 
dropped  his  whip,  most  efficient  of  weapons 
with  which  to  meet  these  dangerous  animals, 
and  hastily  tearing  off  his  coat  he  threw  it  over 
the  snake.  He  sprang  upon  the  garment  and 
stamped  in  every  direction  ;  finally  pinning  the 
creature  low  down  in  the  body,  the  bristled  head, 


1/2  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

with  its  awful  tongue,  reared  itself  from  beneath 
the  folds  of  the  coat,  wounded  but  furious  to 
avenge  its  mate.  The  horrible  hiss  chilled  Mil- 
licent's  blood.  She  saw  the  forked  tongue  dart 
out  and  strike  Graham's  leg.  Mercifully  it 
struck  below  the  knee,  the  fang  failing  to  pene 
trate  the  thick  leather  of  the  boot.  The  crea 
ture  wreathed  another  coil  of  its  length  from  be 
neath  the  iron  heel,  and  again  made  ready  to 
strike.  Graham  cocked  his  revolver,  and  while 
the  angry  red  throat,  with  its  death-dealing  jaws, 
yawned  before  him,  he  poured  a  volley  of  hot 
lead  into  the  writhing  body.  One,  two,  three 
shots  Millicent  counted  ;  and  then  after  a  pause 
Graham's  voice  rang  out  brisk  and  clear  :  "All 
right,  my  girl,  if  there  are  no  more  of  the  beasts." 
The  still  quivering  bodies  of  the  snakes  lay  in  the 
dust  of  the  road,  and  Graham,  recovering  his 
whip,  carefully  examined  the  locality  from  which 
they  had  emerged,  to  see  if  by  chance  a  nest  of 
eggs  or  young  ones  was  to  be  found.  His  search 
was  unsuccessful ;  and  after  securing  the  second 
rattle,  which  was  a  long  one,  proving  how  power 
ful  the  reptile  had  been,  he  measured  the  bodies 
of  the  dead  snakes,  and  rejoined  Millicent.  She 
held  out  her  hand  to  him;  and  Deering,  who  had 
had  as  much  as  he  could  do  in  controlling  the 
two  horses,  congratulated  him  on  his  success, 
and  was  about  to  resume  his  seat  in  the  carriage. 


SAN  EOS  A  RIO  RANCH.  173 

Millicent  had  been  perfectly  quiet  and  composed 
during  the  time  of  danger  ;  her  firm  hand  and 
voice  had  controlled  the  frightened  horse  ;  her 
watchfulness  had  warned  Graham  of  the  ap 
proach  of  his  second  enemy.  But  now  the 
snakes  were  both  dead,  her  lover  was  safe,  and 
there  was  no  further  need  of  her  strength  or 
composure.  As  Hal  approached  the  carriage,  she 
dropped  the  reins,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  weeping. 
Hal,  who  had  lifted  one  foot  to  the  step  of  the 
vehicle,  dropped  it  to  the  ground,  and  retreated 
a  few  paces  with  a  frightened  countenance.  He 
would  not  have  been  afraid  to  encounter  a  nest 
of  rattlesnakes,  but  a  weeping  girl  completely 
unnerved  him.  He  retreated  behind  the  wagon, 
and,  after  a  hurried  conversation  with  Graham, 
without  more  ado,  mounted  that  gentleman's 
horse  and  rode  off  as  fast  as  the  animal  would 
carry  him  ;  while  Graham  quietly  stepped  into 
the  vehicle,  and  touching  Millicent  lightly  on 
the  shoulder,  said,  "  Millicent,  it  is  I." 

The  passionate  weeping  grew  more  quiet ;  the 
sobs  became  less  violent ;  a  slight  tremor  ran 
through  her  frame  at  the  touch ;  at  the  words 
the  tears  rolled  back  to  their  source ;  and  pres 
ently  a  pale  face  was  lifted  from  the  supporting 
hands,  and  the  mouth  quivered  into  a  smile. 
And  so  they  rode  home  together,'  hand  in  hand, 


174  SAN  110 S A  III 0  RANCH. 

through  the  deepening  shadows  ;  and  one  more 
day  of  the  sweet  summer-tide  of  love  had  passed, 
and  each  was  richer  for  that  day,  how  often  re 
called  by  both  of  them  when  the  shadows  of 
life  had  deepened  into  night. 


CHAPTER   X. 

"  Thereon  comes  what  awakening  !     One  grave  sheet 
Of  cold  implacable  white  about  me  drawn"  — 

JOHN  GRAHAM  was  one  of  those  men  in  whose 
nature  there  seems  no  trace  of  feminality.  Man 
and  woman  supplement  each  other,  each  bring 
ing  certain  qualities  to  the  completion  of  hu 
manity  ;  and  yet  it  is  rare  to  find  a  man  whose 
character  is  not  modified  by  some  mother  trait. 
Graham's  qualities  and  his  faults  were  equally 
masculine;  he  was  more  strongly  attracted  by 
women  through  this  intense  virility  than  are  men 
who,  having  some  trace  of  the  feminine  in  their 
nature,  understand  and  sympathize  more  per 
fectly  with  the  opposite  sex.  The  attraction  was 
one  against  which  he  rebelled,  deeming  it  to 
belong  to  the  weaker  side  of  his  nature ;  and  he 
had  so  ordered  his  life  that  it  might  not  fall 
within  the  influence  of  maid  or  matron.  This 
antagonism  to  woman  made  itself  felt  in  his 
work ;  his  successful  pictures  were  of  men,  their 
high  exploits  and  successes.  A  noble,  painting 
of  Saint  Paul,  which  now  hung  over  the  altar 
of  a  Roman  Catholic  church  in  San  Francisco, 
had  won  him  his  first  reputation  in  Paris  ;  he 


176  SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH. 

could  understand  and  sympathize  with  that  great 
man  as  if  he  had  known  him.  It  was  only  the 
highest  type  of  man  that  attracted  him, —  the 
lovers  of  men,  and  not  their  conquerors.  He 
had  never  tried  to  paint  Alexander,  but  had  la 
bored  long  and  lovingly  over  a  picture  of  Soc 
rates.  The  female  subjects  which  he  had  treated 
were  not  less  powerful  than  these,  but  the  force 
which  they  showed  was  scornful  and  untender. 
A  marvellous  painting  of  Circe  hung  in  his  stu 
dio  ;  it  was  one  of  his  most  masterly  works,  and 
yet,  though  critics  had  praised  and  connoisseurs 
had  approved  it,  the  picture  was  still  unsold. 
With  black  brows  bound  by  red-gold  serpents, 
the  enchantress  lay  upon  a  luxurious  couch  ;  her 
beautiful  body  was  but  half  veiled,  the  arms  and 
bosom  immodestly  displayed  ;  about  her  jewelled 
feet  fawned  the  creatures  whose  brute  natures 
had  conspired  with  the  enchantress  to  smother 
whatever  was  human  in  their  beings ;  self-de 
spair  and  scorn  for  their  abasement  deformed  her 
regular  features  to  that  moral  ugliness  never  so 
hideous  as  when  seen  in  a  youthful  and  beautiful 
face.  A  terrible  picture,  full  of  wrath,  but  un- 
tempered  by  mercy.  His  Cressida,  purchased  by 
a  great  European  Academy,  was  another  wonder 
ful  picture ;  a  picture  which  made  men  smile  a 
little  bitterly,  and  had  brought  an  angry  flush  to 
the  cheek  of  more  than  one  sensitive  woman. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  177 

Over  a  man  of  this  nature  woman  holds  a  more 
important  influence  than  with  any  other  class  ; 
it  may  be  a  good  influence  or  it  may  be  a  harm 
ful  one,  but  it  is  the  most  potent  one  which 
touches  his  life.  Had  John  Graham  loved  hap 
pily  at  twenty-five,  instead  of  most  miserably, 
he  would  have  been  a  very  different  man  at 
thirty  from  the  hermit  artist  of  San  Rosario. 
It  would  have  been  better  for  him  if  he  could 
have  learned  the  lesson  which  all  wise  men 
learn  if  they  live  long  enough,  —  that  women  are 
neither  angels  who  stand  immeasurably  above 
men,  nor  inferior  beings  whose  place  is  at  their 
feet,  but  human  like  themselves,  full  of  good 
and  faulty  instincts,  and,  with  all  their  imperfec 
tions,  the  God-given  helpmates  of  man.  So 
justly  should  they  be  judged  ;  and  if  a  little 
mercy  be  claimed  for  them,  generosity  should 
not  deny  it,  so  few  are  their  chances  in  life  com 
pared  with  those  of  their  brothers.  A  woman 
has  but  one  possibility  of  happiness  in  this 
world.  The  stakes  are  high  on  which  she  risks 
her  whole  fortune,  which  she  may  lose  by  one 
unredeemable  throw. 

If  Graham  could  have  known  all  this,  as, 
being  what  he  was,  he  could  not,  he  would  have 
gained  that  one  element  which  his  genius  lacked 
to  make  it  superlative.  Man  and  child  he  was 
by  turns,  but  never  for  an  instant  had  he  been 


178  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

able  to  look  at  life  from  the  standpoint  of  a 
woman.  He  had  once  loved  the  whole  gentler 
sex  with  that  chivalrous  spirit  which  made  him 
unfit  to  live  in  the  nineteenth  century.  No  dis 
courteous  or  cruel  word  toward  any  woman  had 
he  to  reproach  himself  with  ;  he  had  looked 
upon  them  as  creatures  so  far  removed  from 
his  sphere,  that  his  mind  must  be  cleared  of 
every  base  thought  before  it  might  dwell  upon 
them ;  they  were  mysterious  angels  which  it 
was  his  happiness  to  worship.  Then  came  a 
change,  and  the  love  which  had  turned  to  grief 
darkened  his  soul.  As  his  heart  had  been  filled 
with  a  love  so  great  that  it  embraced  all  the 
sisters  of  his  idol,  his  contempt  went  out  to 
wards  them,  as  his  love  had  done  before.  His 
revenge  had  been  terrible:  he  had  struck  at 
womankind  ;  he  had  pictured  it  in  its  debase 
ment  for  all  the  world  to  see. 

The  few  women  for  whom  he  cared  were  eld 
erly  people,  whose  life-battles  had  been  fought 
and  won  ;  who  sat  enthroned  in  the  calm  of  that 
peaceful  period  when  youth  is  no  longer  regretted 
nor  old  age  feared.  Such  women  he  could  paint 
without  bitterness  ;  and  his  portrait  of  his  mother 
was  a  masterpiece  of  exquisite  sentiment.  No 
woman  that  he  had  ever  met  disliked  John 
Graham  ;  if  he  was  distant  arid  cold,  he  was 
honest  and  courteous,  and  a  gentleman  in  the 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  1/9 

deepest  sense  of  the  word.  He  was  too  chival 
rous  to  revenge  himself  on  any  individual ;  his 
grief  was  too  great  to  stoop  to  anything  so 
mean.  More  than  one  woman  would  gladly  have 
loved  him,  but  he  avoided  them  as  if  they  had 
been  poison-nurtured. 

Men,  as  a  rule,  respected  and  feared  Graham  ; 
a  few  of  his  heart-friends  would  have  given  their 
lives  for  him  with  a  smile.  To  those  who  under 
stood  and  loved  him,  there  was  something  more 
than  human  about  the  man, —  a  quality  to  which 
the  highest  part  of  their  nature  did  homage. 
Fools  laughed  at  him  for  his  quixotism ;  the 
critics  had  worn  themselves  out  in  shrieking 
abuse  of  his  work  which  affected  him  in  nowise. 
He  cared  little  for  men's  praise  or  blame;  he 
would  have  died  to  help  them  to  a  new  truth. 
He  was  of  the  stuff  which  made  martyrs  in  the 
old  time,  crusaders  in  the  dark  ages,  and  artists 
in  the  Renaissance.  His  pictures  were  beautiful 
as  works  of  art,  but  they  were  great  because 
they  embodied  living  truths.  At  twenty  his 
friends  said  that  he  had  great  talent ;  at  thirty 
his  enemies  ceased  to  deny  his  force ;  at  forty, 
if  he  lived  so  long,  the  world  would  crown  him 
with  its  laurel  as  a  man  of  genius.  If  haply 
that  bitterness  which  lay  like  a  blight  on  all  his 
work,  on  all  his  life,  might  be  made  sweet ! 
What  a  chance  was  here  for  the  woman  whose 


I  So  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

love  was  now  breaking  over  his  frozen  life  with 
warmth,  fragrance,  and  beauty  !  How  grand  an 
opportunity  to  sweeten  by  truth  and  faith  all 
that  had  grown  bitter  from  untruth  and  faith 
lessness  !  If  she  could  only  have  known  him  as 
he  was,  have  understood  him  and  his  past,  before 
she  had  loved  him,  what  could  not  Millicent 
have  accomplished !  Alas !  poor  child,  she  knew 
nothing  of  all  this.  Her  own  past  was  black 
with  a  grief  and  wrong  greater  than  that  which 
he  had  borne.  She,  too,  was  waking,  and  for 
the  first  time,  from  a  trance  of  soul  and  sleep  of 
heart ;  she  was  all  engrossed  in  her  own  growth 
and  development.  She  was  like  a  little  dungeon- 
born  plant,  which  has  at  last  climbed  through 
the  iron  bars,  and  under  the  light  and  warmth 
of  the  glorious  day  runs  riotous  and  unthink 
ing  across  the  wall,  up,  down,  on  every  side, 
content  to  live  and  grow  in  the  sun  and  air. 
But  the  taint  of  the  old  wrong  and  the  lie  it 
had  entailed,  were  not  yet  left  behind.  He 
had  taken  her  for  a  pure  white  lily  ;  and  how 
could  she  tell  him  that  there  had  been  a  time 
when  she  lived  in  darkness  and  despair  before  her 
life  flowered  into  its  one  perfect  white  blossom 
under  the  warmth  of  his  love  ? 

Life  is  very  pleasant  at  the  San  Rosario  Ranch 
with  its  bordering  of  peaceful  hills.  Here  all 
are  happy,  be  they  of  high  or  low  degree ;  from 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  l8l 

the  gentle-voiced  chatelaine  to  the  stranger  with 
in  her  gates,  the  potent  charm  extends.  The 
fair  daughter  and  tall  son  have  lived  peaceful, 
uneventful  lives  ;  and  though  their  young  eyes 
may  sometimes  turn  a  little  wearily  toward  the 
mountain  barrier,  beyond  which  lies  the  great 
busy  world,  known  more  to  them  by  hearsay 
than  by  actual  experience,  they  are  happy,  far 
happier  than  are  most  of  the  men  and  women 
in  the  crowded  thoroughfare  of  the  world's  cities. 
The  Ranch  does  not  lie  in  the  belt  of  gold,  nor 
in  the  silver  girdle  which  crosses  the  Pacific 
coast.  The  rude  mining  towns  are  far  distant 
from  this  portion  of  the  dairy  lands  of  Califor 
nia.  The  trains  which  leave  the  station  in  this 
neighborhood  are  laden  indeed  with  a  golden 
freight ;  but  no  armed  men  are  found  necessary 
to  guard  the  boxes  filled  with  their  rolls  of  fra 
grant  yellow.  The  product  of  the  dairy  lands 
is  of  a  smaller,  surer  value  than  that  for  which 
men  toil  and  drudge  in  the  gulches  or  mines. 
Far  away  to  the  southward,  where  the  orange 
groves  are  white  and  golden  with  their  double 
burden  of  blossom  and  fruit,  is  a  climate  milder 
than  that  of  San  Rosario  ;  and  there  Hal  had  set 
his  heart  upon  one  day  establishing  himself.  In 
that  vine  country  the  air  is  heavy  with  the 
spicy  odor  of  the  grape,  and  the  harvest  is 
blood-red  with  its  life-juices  ;  and  yet  to  Milli- 


1 82  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

cent  the  fairest  garden  in  this  world's  garden  lay 
between  the  circled  hills  of  San  Rosario. 

Millicent,  having  learned  the  earliest  stage  of 
butter-making  under  Hal's  direction,  wished  to 
be  initiated  into  the  mysteries  which  follow  the 
skimming  of  the  cream.  Hal  gave  one  of  his 
boisterous  guffaws  of  laughter  when  she  one 
morning  gravely  informed  him  that  she  was 
going  to  help  in  that  day's  churning.  She  had 
donned  the  prettiest  chintz  morning  gown  im 
aginable,  with  the  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  elbow, 
and  a  fresh  white  apron.  Her  skirt  was  kilted 
up  half  way  to  the  knee,  showing  a  scarlet  petti 
coat,  which  in  turn  exposed  the  pretty,  small  feet, 
and  possibly  two  inches  more  of  the  round  ankle 
than  is  usually  shown  by  ladies  of  her  degree. 
Tying  one  of  the  great  picturesque  hats  which 
they  had  brought  home  from  San  Real,  under 
her  chin,  the  energetic  young  woman  started  for 
the  dairy.  Hal,  giving  a  knowing  wink  to  his 
mother  and  sister  standing  near  by,  as  if  to  say 
that  the  joke  was  too  good  to  be  spoiled,  followed 
her,  with  Tip,  the  cross  old  dog,  following  him 
in  turn. 

"  Millicent,  did  you  ever  do  any  churning?" 

"  No,  but  I  can  learn." 

"  Without  doubt ;  but  tell  me,  did  you  ever 
see  any  one  else  churn  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  very  often." 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  183 

"  Who,  if  one  may  ask  ?  " 

"  You  will  not  know  any  better  if  I  tell  you. 
It  was  old  Nina,  at  home." 

"  Ah,  old  Nina  ;  and  what  sort  of  a  machine 
did  she  use  ?  " 

"  She  did  not  use  a  machine  at  all ;  she  used  a 
churn,  like  anybody  else." 

"  What  did  it  look  like  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  forgotten  ;  it  was  probably 
an  old-fashioned  one,  but  it  made  quite  as  good 
butter  as  yours  does  ; "  this  in  a  slightly  irritated 
voice.  She  objected  to  being  catechised,  and 
had,  moreover,  a  dim  sense  that  Deering  was 
bent  on  quizzing  her.  She  ran  along  the  foot 
path  in  advance  in  order  to  avoid  further  ques 
tioning,  and  reached  the  dairy  a  few  minutes 
before  him.  Finding  the  main  door  shut,  she 
hurried  round  to  the  side,  when,  just  as  she 
turned  the  corner,  her  rapid  progress  was  sud 
denly  brought  to  an  end.  She  had  met  an  ob 
stacle  ;  she  had,  moreover,  fallen  into  the  arms 
of  the  obstacle,  which  proved  to  be  a  tall  man 
with  a  kindly  voice,  for  he  called  out  merrily, 
"  Hello,  my  girl,  where  are  you  going  so  fast  ?  " 
steadying  her  at  the  same  moment  with  his  arm, 
as  the  sudden  shock  almost  precipitated  her  from 
the  path. 

Millicent  drew  back  disconcerted  and  breath 
less,  and  looked  up  into  the  face  of  the  man 


184  SAN  ROSAHIO  RANCH. 

whom  she  had  so  unexpectedly  encountered. 
When  she  saw  that  it  was  a  face  familiar  to  her, 
she  blushed  and  stammered  a  little  as  she  re 
plied  to  his  astonished  greeting.  Mutual  apolo 
gies  and  explanations  followed  ;  and  Hal,  coming 
up  at  that  moment,  laughed  at  her  discomfiture 
till  the  tears  rolled  down  his  face. 

"  You  always  laugh  at  other  people's  misfor 
tunes,"  cried  Millicent,  trying  to  be  angry  ;  but  it 
was  impossible  to  be  angry  with  Hal.  The  irre 
pressible  young  rancher  carried  the  day ;  and 
Maurice  Galbraith  assured  Millicent  that  it  was 
his  awkwardness  which  had  aroused  Deering's 
merriment. 

"  We  are  very  glad  to  see  you,  Galbraith,  but 
we  are  too  busy  to  stop  and  talk  to  you  just  now. 
You  will  find  mother  and  Bab  at  the  house.  I 
•have  a  new  hand  here  who  is  going  to  take 
charge  of  the  churning  in  future,  and  I  am  just 
showing  her  about  a  little.  Do  you  catch  on  ?  " 

"  Slang  again  !  Five  cents  more  towards  the 
amusement  fund." 

"  Oh,  we  shall  not  want  any  more  amusement 
fund  if*  you  are  going  to  turn  worker,  Princess." 
As  he  spoke  they  entered  the  cool  dairy.  It 
was  tenantless.  At  one  end  of  the  room  stood 
a  large  wooden  vessel,  half  as  big  as  the  Trojan 
horse,  and  from  its  hollow  sides  came  a  dull, 
splashing  sound.  • 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  185 

"Why,  you  said  they  would  be  at  work  al 
ready,"  said  Millicent,  in  a  disappointed  voice ; 
"  where  are  they  all  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  only  takes  one  man  to  attend  to  this 
part  of  the  butter-making,  and  there  he  is  at  his 
post." 

Outside  the  open  doorway,  as  wide  as  the 
entrance  to  a  barn,  sat  Pedro,  lazily  smoking  his 
pipe,  and  occasionally  flicking  with  his  whip  the 
strong  mule  who  was  slowly  revolving  round 
the  small  space  to  which  he  was  tethered. 

"  Well,"  said  Millicent  impatiently,  "  what  does 
that  mean  ? " 

"  Only  this,  my  Princess,  that  you  must  turn 
the  crank  that  this  animal  is  agitating,  with 
your  own  small  hands,  if  you  persist  in  your 
resolution  to  help  with  the  churning." 

Millicent' s  face  fell ;  and  Galbraith  hastened  to 
explain  to  her  that  the  quantity  of  cream  handled 
at  one  churning  made  it  necessary,  in  a  place 
where  human  labor  is  so  dear,  to  employ  horse 
power.  Nobody  likes  to  be  laughed  at,  though 
Millicent  tried  hard  to  smile  at  her  own  blunder  ; 
when  Hal,  suddenly  calling  out ;  "  By  your  leave, 
Princess,"  without  a  word  of  warning  caught  up 
the  young  lady  in  his  arms,  and  placed  her  on 
the  back  of  the  patient  mule,  remarking,  as  he 
accomplished  the  feat,  "  No  one  can  say  now 
that  you  have  not  helped  with  the  churning." 


186  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  Millicent 
or  the  mule  felt  the  greater  surprise  ;  they  were 
both  taken  unawares  ;  but  the  quadruped  was  the 
first  to  recover  himself,  and  resumed  his  weary 
task  of  plodding  round  in  the  monotonous  circle. 
Millicent,  clinging  closely  to  the  creature,  cried 
loudly  to  be  relieved  from  her  uncomfortable 
position  ;  but  Hal,  fearing  her  wrath,  had  disap 
peared  into  the  interior  of  the  dairy,  leaving  to 
Galbraith  the  pleasure  of  assisting  the  young 
woman  in  dismounting.  Pedro,  who  had  been 
an  amused  spectator  of  the  scene,  now  an 
nounced  that  the  churning  was  completed,  and 
that  they  should  soon  see  the  washing  of  the 
butter,  if  it  pleased  them  to  wait.  The  big 
golden  fragments  were  collected  from  the  sea  of 
buttermilk,  and  finally  massed  together  on  a 
wide  table.  There  it  was  worked  by  Pedro,  who 
tossed  the  fragrant  mass  from  side  to  side,  press 
ing  out  the  remaining  deposits  of  the  milk  with 
a  heavy  wooden  wand.  He  moulded  the  butter 
into  fantastic  forms,  prettiest  of  which  was  a 
huge  bell-shaped  flower  like  a  giant  trumpet 
blossom.  It  struck  Millicent  that  here  was  a 
delightful  material  for  modelling ;  and  taking 
up  a  piece  of  butter  and  one  of  the  dairy  tools, 
she  forthwith  produced  a  bas-relief  portrait  of 
Galbraith,  which  would  have  done  credit  to  the 
sculptress  of  the  sleeping  lolanthe. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  187 

"  There  are  two  classes  of  hands,  those  which 
are  skilful  and  those  which  are  clumsy ;  of  all 
other  divisions  of  humanity  this  is  the  most  im 
portant.  You,  Miss  Almsford,  are  so  happy  as 
to  belong  to  the  skilful  half,  or  rather  quarter,  of 
humanity,  —  for  men  are  all  clumsy.  I  see  that 
you  can  do  all  things  artistic  as  well  as  useful 
with  your  fingers." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  never  tried  to  do  much 
that  was  useful,"  said  the  girl  half  ruefully.  "  Bar 
bara,  now,  can  do  all  sorts  of  things.  But  I  am 
tired  of  comparing  myself  with  her  ;  I  always 
suffer  by  the  process  ;  "  this  with  a  rather  vicious 
little  stroke  at  the  butter-model,  which  she  was 
now  finishing  into  a  medallion,  with  a  pattern  of 
scroll-work  for  a  border. 

"Let  me  judge  between  yourself  and  Miss 
Barbara.  I  know  that  she  can  touch  the  ivory 
keys  with  grace,  and  can  also  make  wonderful 
peach  preserves.  On  the  other  hand,  you  model 
in  butter  and  —  and  —  well,  what  else  can  those 
small  hands  accomplish  of  art  or  industry  ? " 

"  They  can  draw  a  little  as  well  as  model ;  they 
can  trim  bonnets,  yes,  really  quite  well ;  they 
are  not  unfamiliar  with  the  key-boards  of  piano 
and  organ  ;  and,  best  of  all,  —  I  had  really  forgot 
ten  to  enumerate  this  accomplishment,  —  they 
can  move  tables  and  chairs  ;  they  can  draw  pain 
from  your  head  ;  they  can  put  you  into  a  trance, 
—  they  are,  in  fact,  magnetic  hands." 


1 88  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  It  seems,  then,  that  you  are  a  Spiritualist." 

"  Far  from  it ;  by  what  power  I  do  the  few 
things  which  form  the  repertoire  of  my  manifes 
tations,  as  the  mediums  call  them,  I  do  not  know 
any  more  than  you." 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  stance  f  " 

"  Indeed  ;  no." 

"And  because  —  " 

"  Because  it  tires  me,  and  I  am  rather  afraid 
of  my  own  power.  Some  one  once  compared  me 
to  a  child  who  had  got  hold  of  an  electric  bat 
tery  which  he  did  not  understand,  and  with 
which  he  unwittingly  produced  inexplicable  phe 
nomena,  not  devoid  of  danger  to  himself." 

"  You  are  really  in  earnest  then,  and  believe 
in  these  manifestations?" 

"  Perfectly  so  ;  and  I  am  rather  cowardly  about 
exploring  them  to  their  source,  as  I  have  seen  so 
many  strong  minds  unhinged  by  study  of  this 
subject.  I  certainly  object  to  the  vulgar  theory, 
that  the  spirits  of  those  who  have  gone  before 
us  have  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  tip  tables 
and  dip  their  hands  in  pails  of  paraffine  which 
accommodating  mediums  prepare  for  them." 

"  You  do  not  believe  in  mediums,  then  ?  " 

"  I  believe  no  manifestation  to  be  genuine 
which  comes  from  a  professional  medium.  That 
they  often  have  real  power,  I  do  not  doubt ;  but 
so  soon  as  it  is  a  question  of  earning  their  living, 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  189 

they  must  inevitably  fall  back  upon  fraud.  But 
we  are  growing  quite  serious  about  this  subject 
which  I  never  like  to  talk  of  for  fear  of  being 
misunderstood." 

"But  I  am  really  interested  in  what  you  say — " 

"  Never  mind  ;  here  is  your  portrait,  which  is 
not  flattered,  I  frankly  confess ;  but  is  it  a  little 
like  you  ? " 

"  If  I  know  my  face  at  all,  it  is  wonderfully 
good.  Would  that  you  had  deigned  to  model  it 
in  a  less  perishable  material !  " 

"Oh,  no  !  this  is  infinitely  better,  it  is  so  much 
more  appropriate  — 

"Thanks  for  the  compliment  ;  but  why,  if  I 
may  ask,  should  you  consider  butter  to  be  par 
ticularly  suitable  to  me  ?  " 

"  Not  to  you  personally,  but  to  humanity.  Is 
it  not  stupid  to  carve  bronze  fac-similes  of  that 
which  is  as  perishable  as  the  grass  ? " 

"  But  had  it  not  been  for  this  stupidity,  how 
should  we  know  the  features  of  Caesar  ?  " 

"And  would  it  greatly  matter  ?" 

"  I  think  so  ;  but  a  young  lady  who  so  cruelly 
assures  me  that  butter  is  the  only  material  in 
which  my  humble  features  deserve  to  be  repro 
duced—  " 

Millicent  interrupted  the  speaker  by  her  pleas 
ant  laugh,  with  its  sound  of  falling  waters,  and 
thanking  Pedro  for  what  he  had  shown  her,  led 


190  SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH. 

the  way  from  the  dairy.  She  refused  to  speak 
further  on  the  subject  during  the  day-time,  but 
as  they  sat  together  on  the  piazza  in  the  twi 
light,  Galbraith  referred  to  it  again  ;  and,  after 
much  persuasion,  Millicent  seated  herself  at  a 
table,  round  which  the  company  grouped  them 
selves,  placing  their  hands  lightly  on  its  surface. 
Barbara,  who  was  seated  next  to  Millicent,  their 
hands  touching  one  another,  seemed  strangely 
affected,  after  they  had  been  sitting  for  some 
time  in  silence.  She  manifested  unmistakable 
signs  of  sleepiness,  and  finally,  with  a  long 
sigh,  her  eyes  closed  and  her  head  fell  upon  Mil- 
licent's  shoulder.  With  a  little  frightened  cry, 
Millicent  quickly  lifted  her,  and  making  several 
passes  over  her  head  called  Hal  to  come  and 
support  his  sister.  In  a  moment  Barbara  re 
covered  herself,  and  showed  no  more  symptoms 
of  sleep.  She  laughed  heartily,  and  said  that  a 
peculiar  sensation  in  her  elbows  had  preceded 
her  momentary  unconsciousness.  Galbraith  ap 
plauded  the  little  episode,  which  he  assured  Mil 
licent  was  very  well  acted  by  both  participants. 
The  girl  turned  her  eyes,  deep  and  burning,  full 
upon  him,  half  in  anger,  and  said,  — • 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Galbraith,  we  will  see  if  you 
can  act  a  part  as  well  as  Barbara.  Lay  your 
hand  in  mine  —  so." 

The  young  man  smiled,  and  did  as  he  was  bid, 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  IQI 

with  a  courteous  bow,  as  if  deprecating  the 
power  in  which  he  did  not  believe  ;  and  for  a 
space  of  time  they  stood  looking  each  other  full 
in  the  face.  Then  Millicent's  slight  form  seemed 
to  vibrate,  and  from  her  eyes  a  light  flashed  into 
the  man's  dark  orbs,  her  cheek  flushed,  and  from 
every  nerve  in  her  body  an  electric  flash  seemed 
to  emanate,  concentrating  into  a  broad  current 
at  the  shoulder,  and  slipping  through  the  round 
white  arm  to  the  very  finger-tips.  Galbraith's 
face  paled  as  hers  flushed  ;  a  stinging  sensation 
half  painful,  half  agreeable,  made  him  wince  ;  and 
when  in  a  few  moments  Millicent  withdrew  her 
hand,  he  remained  standing  motionless,  white 
to  the  lips,  with  dim,  dreaming  eyes,  and  slow- 
beating  heart. 

"  Speak,"  said  the  magnetizer,  "  tell  me  what 
is  in  your  mind  ? " 

"  There  is  nothing,"  answered  the  man,  in  a 
low,  monotonous  voice. 

"  Now  speak,  and  tell  me  what  you  see." 

"  I  see  a  man  on  horseback ;  the  horse  is 
running  away.  Now  he  gallops,  and  the  rider 
loses  control  of  him  ;  they  disappear  in  a  cloud 
of  dust,  and  I  see  nothing.  Now  they  return  ; 
the  horse  is  going  quietly,  and  the  rider  looks 
towards  a  carriage  in  which  sits  a  lady  ;  it  is 
Millicent.  He  enters  the  carriage  ;  she  is  weep 
ing,  and  he  touches  —  "  he  paused. 


IQ2  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

Millicent's  cheek  had  grown  crimson.  She  said 
in  a  low  tone,  — 

"  Why  do  you  not  continue  ?  " 

"  Because  you  will  not  let  me." 

At  this  moment  a  light  step  sounded  on  the 
piazza.  Millicent  turned  her  head  and  saw 
Graham  approaching  her.  She  stepped  quickly 
towards  him,  forgetting  Galbraith,  the  company, 
everything  and  everybody,  save  that  her  lover 
had  come  to  her.  As  she  turned  from  him,  Gal 
braith  reeled  suddenly,  and  would  have  fallen 
had  not  Hal  steadied  him  to  a  seat. 

"  I  fear  I  am  interrupting  you,"  said  the  artist, 
in  a  cool  voice,  betraying  some  annoyance. 

"  Indeed,  no,"  cried  the  girl,  "  we  were  only 
trying  the  stupid  old  game  of  willing  people  ;  I 
have  succeeded  in  magnetizing  Mr.  Galbraith 
here." 

By  this  time  the  young  lawyer  had  recovered 
himself,  though  he  looked  strangely  pale  and 
agitated.  He  was  somewhat  overcome  by  what 
had  gone  before,  and  was  not  a  little  troubled  by 
the  power  which  the  tall,  straight  girl  had  exer 
cised  over  him.  He  rebelled  against  it,  and  yet 
the  sensation  of  giving  up  his  volition,  and  liv 
ing  for  the  time  only  by  her  will  and  her  thought 
had  not  been  unmixed  with  a  keen  pleasure.  If 
no  one  had  witnessed  the  affair,  above  all,  if 
Graham  had  not  seen  it,  he  would  not  have 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  193 

greatly  cared ;  but  though  he  had  no  recollection 
of  what  he  had  seen  and  described  in  Millicent's 
mind,  that  evening's  experience  deepened  the 
vague  antipathy  he  had  always  felt  towards  the 
artist,  into  a  positive  dislike. 

Later,  as  they  walked  together  alone,  Graham 
asked  Millicent  if  she  would  magnetize  him,  to 
which  she  replied  in  the  negative. 

"Do  you  think  that  you  could  succeed  ?" 

"I  cannot  tell ;  but  if  I  could,  I  should  not  be 
willing  to  do  so." 

"  And  yet  you  threw  a  spell  over  that  fellow 
Galbraith  ?  " 

"  Dear,  there  is  a  difference  ;  cannot  you  see  ?  " 

"  No  ;  upon  my  soul  I  can't." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  command  even  your  thought 
for  an  instant ;  you  must  think  of  me  to  please 
yourself,  not  because  I  will  it." 

"What  a  strange  girl  you  are,  Millicent !  Do 
you  really  love  me  so  very  much  ? " 

"  I  love  you  better  than  my  own  soul." 

"  A  dangerous  thing,  child ;  do  not  ever  say 
that  to  me  again." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  It  shocks  me  ;  I  cannot  tell  you  why." 

For  answer,  she  gave  him  a  rose  from  her 
breast  with  a  childish  gesture,  as  if  asking  for 
giveness.  There  was  an  awkwardness,  born  of 
an  unwonted  shyness,  in'  the  movement  which 
13 


IQ4  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

was  more  attractive  to  the  artist  than  the  most 
graceful  attitude  he  had  ever  seen  her  assume. 
He  caught  the  hand  with  the  rose  and  crushed 
them  both  in  his  two  strong  palms,  as  if  to  hurt 
her.  She  smiled,  though  her  wrist  reddened 
from  the  sudden  pressure.  It  is  more  sweet  to 
bear  pain  from  those  we  love,  than  to  receive 
kindness  from  a  hand  which  is  not  dear. 

As  Graham  was  taking  his  leave,  he  asked 
Millicent  for  two  books  which  she  had  prom 
ised  to  lend  him.  Barbara  had  joined  them,  and 
offered  to  fetch  them  for  him. 

"Thank  you,  Barbara,  but  I  know  just  where 
they  are." 

"  Is  it  not  the  Petrarch  and  your  manuscript 
translation  of  Dante  that  Mr.  Graham  wants  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  left  them  on  your  table.  I  saw  them 
when  I  went  up  to  shut  the  blinds.  You  had 
better  let  me  go,  you  are  so  tired." 

"  Yes,  let  Miss  Deering  get  them  for  you  ; 
you  are  quite  worn  out  with  your  magnetizing." 
He  wanted  to  say  one  last  good-night  to  her. 

His  lightest  wish  was  her  law;  she  nodded 
gratefully  to  Barbara,  who  disappeared,  while 
Graham  told  her  once  more  how  lovely  she  was 
that  night.  When  Miss  Deering  came  back, 
Graham  had  already  mounted  his  horse  and 
Millicent  was  feeding  the  animal  with  sugar. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  195 

"  You   are   sure   you   have   the   right   books, 
Barbara  ? " 

"  Quite  sure  ;  I  know  them  perfectly." 
"  Many  thanks  to  you  both,  and  good-night." 
Millicent  was  in  a  wakeful  mood  that  night. 
She  went  to  the  piano  and  played  for  an  hour  or 
two,  as  she  only  played  when  alone.  Her  hands 
drifted  dreamily  over  the  key-board,  drawing  out 
fantastic  melodies,  —  themes  which  were  com 
posed  and  forgotten  within  the  hour.  In  an 
obscure  corner  of  the  room  stood  a  head  of 
Beethoven.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  face  of 
the  master  while  she  played,  and  as  the  notes 
grew  strong  and  sweet  she  smiled ;  when  the 
harmony  changed  to  a  tender  minor  strain,  the 
smile  faded  from  her  face.  The  music  ex 
pressed  the  thoughts  which  drifted  through  her 
mind.  At  first  she  played  the  quick  movement 
of  a  march,  through  which  rang  out  the  meas 
ured  beat  of  a  horse's  hoofs ;  then  the  strain 
changed  to  a  pensive  nocturne  suggestive  of  the 
forest  at  night.  A  tender  slumber-song  fol 
lowed,  in  which  her  voice  took  up  the  melody, 
chanting  loving  words  in  the  language  of  Tus 
cany.  The  light,  delicate  thread  of  harmony 
now  broadened  into  a  full  consonance  of  sound, 
the  chords  following  each  other  tumultuously,  as 
if  in  translating  one  supreme  moment  of  leave- 
taking.  As  she  was  striking  the  closing  strains 


1^6  SAN  ROSARLO  RANCH. 

of  this  emotional  improvisation,  her  powerful 
voice  trembling  with  a  passionate  addio,  the 
sweet  symphony  of  sounds  was  interrupted  by 
a  crashing  discord.  She  sprang  from  the  piano 
startled  and  trembling,  to  find  that  a  heavy  vase 
of  flowers  had  fallen  on  the  key-board  from  the 
shelf  above  the  piano.  The  metal  jar  was  unin 
jured,  but  about  her  feet  were  scattered  the 
petals  of  a  bunch  of  white  roses  which  Graham 
had  plucked  for  her  that  night.  So  rudely 
was  her  rhapsody  interrupted  !  She  closed  the 
piano,  and,  after  restlessly  wandering  through 
the  silent  house,  went  to  her  own  room,  where 
she  sat  looking  out  of  her  window  at  the  moon 
lit  hills.  She  could  not  sleep,  she  was  full  of 
unrest. 

The  gray  morning  light  was  filtering  into  Bar 
bara  Deering's  room  when  she  was  awakened  by 
a  light  touch  on  the  shoulder.  Millicent  stood 
before  her,  gray  as  the  twilight ;  she  held  in  her 
hand  a  small  parchment  book. 

"  Barbara,  what  books  did  you  give  Mr. 
Graham  ? " 

"  The  Petrarch  and  your  Dante.  What  is  the 
matter,  Millicent  ?  Have  n't  you  been  in  bed  ?  " 

"No,  I  could  not  sleep.  Here  is  the  little 
Dante ;  where  did  you  find  the  book  you  mis 
took  for  it  ?  " 

Barbara  sat  up  and  rubbed  her  eyes  confusedly. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  197 

"  Why,  it  was  not  where  I  had  last  see.n  it.  I 
found  it  somewhere,  in  your  jewel-box,  I  think. 
I  am  so  sorry  I  made  a  mistake  ;  't  was  just  like 
the  Dante.  Does  it  matter  much  ? " 

"  I  only  wanted  to  know,  Barbara;  go  to  sleep 
again." 

She  spoke  in  a  low,  constrained  voice,  and 
glided  quietly  from  the  room.  Barbara,  only 
half  awake,  gave  a  sigh,  and  settling  her  flaxen 
head  among  the  pillows,  again  fell  asleep  and 
dreamed  that  she  had  stabbed  Millicent  with  a 
knife,  and  that  Graham  was  trying  to  stanch 
the  wound  with  the  leaves  of  a  little  parchment 
book. 

When  Graham  arrived  at  his  lonely  tower, 
after  making  his  horse  comfortable  for  the  night, 
he  looked  into  French  John's  cabin  to  see 
whether  all  was  well  with  the  old  fellow.  The 
door  was  fast,  and  looking  through  the  small 
window,  the  young  man  saw  the  wood-cutter 
lying  on  his  hard  couch,  his  gun  beside  him,  his 
dog  curled  up  at  his  feet.  The  creature  growled 
at  the  sound  of  Graham's  footsteps,  but  catching 
sight  of  a  familiar  face  through  the  window,  he 
gave  a  comfortable  yawp,  wagged  his  tail,  and 
relapsed  into  slumber.  The  artist  never  slept 
without  paying  this  last  visit  to  his  humble  friend. 
He  stumbled  up  the  steep  tower  stairs,  and 
after  fumbling  with  the  clumsy  lock,  the  door 


198  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

swung  open  and  admitted  him  to  his  one  room. 
After  groping  about  in  the  dark  for  a  mo 
ment  he  struck  a  light,  and  out  of  the  embers 
on  the  hearth  blew  a  little  flame.  He  looked 
about  the  small  room  and  laughed ;  this  was  a 
home,  indeed,  to  which  to  bring  a  bride  !  It 
sufficed  for  him  ;  and  he  asked  for  nothing  more 
commodious  or  luxurious  than  this  old  tower 
in  the  corner  of  the  ruined  church,  with  its 
grand  north  light  and  easy  chair,  its  open  fire 
and  pallet-bed. 

If  he  married,  —  when  he  married,  he  cor 
rected  himself,  for  he  surely  intended  to  marry 
Millicent,  —  there  would  have  to  be  great  changes 
in  his  life.  He  would  be  obliged  to  abandon 
his  old  tower,  and  live  in  a  smug  new  house 
somewhere,  with  fuss  and  worry  about  servants, 
who  would  not  please  him  half  so  well  as  did  the 
old  wood-cutter  John.  His  work,  ah,  how  that 
would  suffer  !  —  no  more  of  the  pleasant  consci 
entious  labor,  the  slow  painting  and  study  of 
that  one  supreme  moment  of  the  day  when  the 
golden  copse  was  made  tender  by  the  light  of 
the  setting  sun.  He  must  hie  him  to  the  city 
and  pass  his  life  in  painting  fat,  over-fed  ma 
trons  in  lace  and  diamonds,  or  expressionless 
minxes  with  costumes  indicative  of  youth  and 
ignorance.  He  would,  perhaps,  relapse  into  a 
mere  mechanical  portrait-painter,  with  as  much 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  IQ9 

imagination  as  a  photographer  ;  and  his  pictures 
would  be  ordered  as  theirs  are,  with  the  simple 
difference  that  the  artist  produces  but  one  copy, 
while  the  photographer,  with  equal  trouble,  makes 
a  dozen  or  ten  dozen,  or  a  single  picture.  He 
sighed  aloud,  and  for  consolation  lit  his  pipe. 
He  caught  sight  of  the  flower  which  had  bloomed 
on  a  fair  bosom  and  was  now  fastened  to  his 
coat,  somewhat  crushed  but  still  fragrant.  He 
carefully  unpinned  the  rose  and  placed  it  in  a 
small  vase  of  water,  and  then  proceeded  to  ex 
amine  the  books  which  Millicent  had  given 
him.  Graham  liked  old  books,  and  was  de 
lighted  with  the  yellowed  parchment  copy  of 
Petrarch.  An  inscription  on  the  cover  showed 
that  it  had  once  belonged  to  a  monastery.  On 
the  fly-leaf  was  a  slight  sketch  of  a  young  monk's 
head  seen  in  profile.  It  was  a  beautiful,  clear- 
cut  face,  with  delicate  outlines  and  an  earnest 
expression  ;  beneath  it  was  written,  "  Fra  Anto 
nio,  Aetat  22." 

"  So  this  was  brother  Antonio,  and  he  lived 
and  died  probably  in  the  peaceful  quiet  of  a 
Roman  monastery.  I  wonder  if  he  painted 
too,  or  whether  he  wrote  hymns  to  all  the 
pretty  female  saints  in  the  calendar.  Brother 
Antonio  must  have  lived  and  died  without  a 
helpmeet.  I  fancy  he  did  none  the  worse  work 
for  that." 


200  SAN  ROSATdO  RANCH. 

The  thought  struck  him  as  ungrateful,  and,  as 
if  to  make  amends  for  it,  he  took  up  the  other  little 
volume.  It  was  a  thin  book  bound  in  white  vel 
lum,  with  Millicent's  name  in  illuminated  text 
upon  its  cover,  The  covers  of  this  small  tome 
were  closed  with  a  gold  clasp,  which  he  finally 
succeeded  in  opening.  It  proved  to  be  a  diary 
in  manuscript ;  he  recognized  the  clear,  delicate 
handwriting  of  the  girl  he  loved.  Yes,  he  loved 
her  tenderly ;  why  else  should  he  press  the  sense 
less  pages  close  to  his  lips,  kissing  the  fair  paper 
over  which  her  fairer  hand  had  passed  ?  He  drew 
his  lamp  nearer  to  him  and  prepared  to  read  the 
record.  It  was  written  in  Italian,  and  the  first 
page  bore  a  date  five  years  back.  He  was  some 
what  puzzled,  but  supposed  he  had  misunder 
stood  what  she  had  told  him  of  the  book.  She 
could  have  been  but  a  child  then  ;  she  was  now 
only  just  past  her  majority.  How  pretty  she 
must  have  been  at  sixteen,  before  she  had  grown 
to  the  perfect  womanhood  which  now  became 
her  so  well !  He  fancied  her  in  all  the  shyness 
and  awkwardness  of  young  maidenhood,  with 
childhood  reluctantly  slipping  from  her,  and  girl 
hood  anxiously  leading  her  forward.  Again  he 
kissed  the  book,  but  reverently  this  time,  and 
with  a  deep  sigh  as  if  it  had  been  a  holy  one. 
If  he  could  have  known  her  then,  before  he  had 
grown  to  feel  so  old,  before  she  had  learned  that 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  2OI 

she  was  fair  and  young,  how  much  easier  it 
would  have  been  for  both  of  them.  As  he  sat 
with  unseeing  eyes  fixed  on  the  faintly  traced 
characters,  beholding  in  fancy  the  little  Millicent 
of  half-grown  figure  and  cool,  loveless  eyes  stoop 
ing  over  the  book,  putting  her  white,  childish 
thoughts  into  these  words,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  heard  a  faint  sound,  —  a  sound  that  was 
deeper  than  the  wind  stirring  the  tops  of  the 
redwoods  ;  a  sound  that  made  him  shiver  and 
turn  the  bright  flame  of  the  lamp  a  little  higher. 
It  was  like  a  noise  heard 'dimly  in  a  dream,  an 
echo  of  a  woman's  sob  ringing  faint  and  muffled 
through  a  space  of  years,  was  it,  or  of  distance  ? 
It  had  grown  quite  cold ;  and  he  heaped  an  arm 
ful  of  brushwood  on  the  dying  fire,  which  soon 
shot  up  the  little  chimney  with  a  cheery  roar, 
and  threw  its  bright  light  to  the  farthest  corner 
of  the  room,  touching  the  picture  on  the  easel, 
bringing  out  the  ugly  little  netshukes  from  their 
shadowy  corner,  and  shining  on  the  polished 
steel  of  the  gun  standing  near  the  maulstick  and 
fishing-rod. 

It  must  have  been  the  wind,  that  faint  sound 
which  had  seemed  to  find  an  echo  in  the  beating 
of  his  heart.  He  drew  aside  the  heavy  window- 
curtains.  Outside  in  the  cool  moonlight  he  saw 
the  arms  of  the  great  trees  swaying  to  and  fro ; 
below  these  the  desolate  ruins  of  the  old  church  : 


202  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

all  was  quiet  and  deserted.  There  was  the  dis 
mantled  altar,  —  it  was  surely  a  trick  of  the 
moonlight  and  the  trees,  that  shadowy  semblance 
of  a  woman  kneeling  out  there  in  the  night,  with 
wild  hair,  and  arms  cast  about  the  broken  cross, 
overturned  this  half  century  ?  Yes,  it  was  a 
shadow  surely  ;  for  a  cloud  passed  before  the 
silver  face  of  the  half-moon,  and  when  it  had 
floated  by,  the  shadow  of  a  female  figure  had 
vanished.  He  dropped  the  curtain  and  turned 
with  a  sigh  of  relief  from  the  mysterious  half- 
light,  with  its  revelations  of  deserted  chapels  and 
uncared-for  altars,  its  shattered  cross  and  phan 
tom  penitent.  Inside  his  small  domicile  was 
warmth  and  light ;  and  to  drive  away  the  cold, 
nervous  feeling  which  had  crept  about  him  like 
an  invisible  network,  he  again  took  up  the  little 
parchment  journal.  Again  he  seated  himself, 
and  turned  the  first  leaf.  As  he  read  he  smiled, 
and  occasionally  turned  over  the  sheets  to  see 
how  many  more  pages  remained  to  be  perused. 
Presently  the  smile  faded  from  his  face ;  and  the 
flames  on  the  hearth  burnt  low  and  finally  died, 
choked  by  the  gray  ashes.  And  still  Graham 
turned  the  pages  of  the  little  journal  with  cold 
fingers.  The  lamp  grew  dim,  and  the  moon 
paled  and  sank  beneath  the  horizon  ;  the  chill 
morning  twilight  crept  betwixt  the  hangings, 
and  showed  him  sitting  cold  and  motionless  to 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  203 

the  slow-coming  dawn.  The  last  page  of  the 
journal  had  been  turned  long  since ;  but  he  still 
held  the  book  open,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  final 
words. 


CHAPTER   XL 

"  Dearer  than  woman's  love 
Is  yonder  sunset  fading  in  the  sky !  " 

AFTER  that  night's  vigil,  Graham  took  his  gun, 
and  packing  a  blanket  and  a  few  camping  uten 
sils  in  his  saddle-bag,  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  away  toward  a  hunting-lodge  some  twenty 
miles  distant,  where  he  sometimes  passed  the 
night.  His  way  led  through  the  woods,  where 
the  bracing  air,  the  light  footsteps  of  the  invisi 
ble  animals,  the  fluttering  of  the  birds  in  the 
trees,  served  to  turn  his  mind  from  the  painful 
thoughts  of  the  past  night.  He  had  a  part  in 
this  woodland  life,  and  owned  a  kinship  to  the 
four-footed  and  feathered  creatures  who  made 
the  forest  their  home.  His  spirit  was  lifted  to 
that  close  and  intimate  communion  with  Nature 
which  is  only  possible  to  man  when  unfettered 
by  human  companionship.  The  cool,  spicy  air 
was  sweeter  than  the  kiss  of  maiden ;  the  leafage 
of  the  restless  trees  more  tender  than  that  of  the 
gold-bronze  hair  he  had  so  often  praised.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  only  real  thing  in  all  the 
fair  sunny  earth  was  himself;  that  the  people 


SAN  EOSAEIO  RANCH.  205 

whom  he  had  known  were  but  pictures  seen  in 
a  dream.  He  lived,  and  breathed  the  scent  of 
the  pine-trees ;  he  lived,  and  heard  the  cry  of  the 
blue-jays  in  their  branches  ;  he  lived,  and  his 
eyes  were  filled  with  the  glorious  beauty  of  his 
world, —  all  his,  with  nothing  to  come  between 
him  and  the  fragrant  Mother  Earth.  All  that 
day  he  rode  and  walked  through  the  tangled 
paths  and  trackless  thickets,  holding  communion 
with  sky  and  earth,  content  to  live  without 
retrospection  or  anticipation.  Just  before  sun 
set  he  shot  a  brace  of  quail  for  his  supper  ;  and 
when  dark  shadows  had  crept  through  the 
wooded  places  he  built  a  fire  on  the  hearth 
of  the  little  cabin  where  he  proposed  spending 
the  night.  It  was  a  rude  lodge,  a  trifle  less 
comfortable  than  French  John's  house,  with 
wooden  bunks  around  the  walls,  and  trunks  of 
trees  roughly  fashioned  into  seats.  Under  a 
certain  board  in  the  floor,  known  to  him,  was  a 
hiding-place  wherein  were  stored  half  a  dozen 
tallow  candles,  with  a  bottle  to  serve  as  candle 
stick,  a  pack  of  cards,  an  iron  pot  and  spoon, 
a  rusty  jack-knife  with  a  corkscrew,  and,  last 
of  all,  a  flask  of  brandy,  which  it  was  a  matter  of 
honor  always  to  leave  half  full.  The  shed  had 
been  built  by  himself  and  Henry  Deering,  and 
was  occasionally  used  by  them  and  their  friends 
when  on  hunting  expeditions.  As  there  were 


206  &AN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

no  means  of  securely  fastening  so  slight  a 
building,  there  was  neither  lock  nor  bar  to  door 
or  window.  Over  the  fireplace  was  tacked  a 
notice  written  in  Deering's  bold  hand,  which 
read  as  follows  :  — 

"  Gentlemen  are  requested  to  put  out  the  fire 
and  latch  the  door  before  leaving  this  shanty. 
Water  to  be  found  three  rods  beyond  this  spot 
to  the  north." 

Graham  found  the  candles,  which  he  finally 
succeeded  in  lighting ;  and  after  making  a  meal 
of  hard-tack  and  roasted  quail,  he  filled  his  pipe 
and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  bunks,  tired  out  by 
his  long  day's  ride.  The  painful  thoughts  which 
he  had  banished  during  the  hours  of  daylight 
now  took  possession  of  him  ;  and  the  brow,  which 
had  been  calm  all  day,  showed  the  three  deep 
dints  which  trouble  more  than  time  had  furrowed 
upon  its  noble  expanse.  He  was  alone  again  ! — 
no  more  friendly  sounds  and  sights  to  divert  his 
mind  and  fill  his  eyes  with  beauty.  Only  his 
sad  thoughts  and  the  one  great  problem  which 
was  set  before  him  to  solve.  His  changeful,  mel 
ancholy  eyes  were  fixed  vacantly  on  the  floor. 
They  saw  nothing  but  the  shadowy  vision  of  the 
night,  —  the  figure  of  a  woman  amidst  the  broken 
altars  of  the  old  Mission  church.  The  words 
which  he  had  read  in  the  little  journal  came 
thronging  back  to  him  in  riotous  haste,  —  those 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 


207 


pitiful  words  of  passionate  grief  traced  by  the 
slender  white  fingers,  which  so  lately  had  lin 
gered  tremblingly  in  his  own  strong  brown 
hands.  Could  he  forgive  her  ?  Poor  child,  poor 
child !  What  was  he,  that  he  had  a  right  to  with 
hold  his  forgiveness  for  an  instant  ?  Let  their 
lives  be  laid  side  by  side,  with  every  act  and 
every  thought  bared  to  his  view,  and  how  did 
his  life's  record  compare  with  hers  ? 

Ah,  if  she  had  but  told  him  the  story,  and 
not  left  it  to  accident  to  reveal  the  secret !  She 
had  deceived  him  !  And  the  angry  blood  surged 
from  his  heart  to  his  brow  and  settled  there  dully 
red.  The  stern  lines  of  his  face  grew  harder 
than  the  mask  of  a  stone  statue,  and  the  expres 
sion  of  the  chiselled  mouth  was  terribly  relentless. 
He  would  never  see  her  again,  never,  never ! 
What  he  had  felt  for  her  was  not  that  highest 
passion  which  melts  heart  and  soul  and  body  in 
one  pure  flame ;  for,  without  a  perfect  faith,  such 
love  is  not.  So  he  reasoned,  pity  and  anger 
sweepingacross  his  soul ;  and  then,  forgetting  both 
in  a  great  pain,  he  cried,  stretching  out  his  arms, 
"Millicent,  Millicent,  come  to  me  !  "  At  last  the 
wearied  muscles  and  tired  brain  and  heart  slowly, 
half-consciously  yielded  to  a  warm,  close-fold 
ing  influence  which  straightened  out  the  lines 
on  the  brow,  loosened  the  tight-drawn  muscles, 
stole  the  fire  from  the  deep  eyes  and  the  anger 


208  SAN  EOSAR10  EANCH. 

from  the  curved  mouth.  The  grand  head,  with 
its  thousand  schemes  and  theories,  fell  back  upon 
the  couch  ;  the  skilful  hand,  with  its  nervous,  deli 
cate  fingers,  relaxed ;  a  long,  shivering  sigh  shook 
the  body  ;  and,  with  the  fire-light  shining  upon 
his  stern  beauty,  Graham  slept.  The  fire  burned 
low  upon  the  hearth  and  finally  flickered  out, 
leaving  a  bed  of  glowing  ashes.  The  quiet  of 
the  night  was  broken  by  the  long  shrill  wail  of 
the  coyote,  but  Graham  stirred  not.  A  light  foot 
step  sounded  near  the  cabin,  and  a  scratching 
noise  might  have  been  heard  as  the  head  of  a 
great  bear  was  raised  to  the  level  of  the  window. 
The  sleeper's  breath  never  quickened  ;  and  Bruin, 
after  a  long  look  and  a  vain  attempt  to  push  the 
door  open,  gave  a  growl  and  trotted  off  through 
the  underbrush  toward  his  own  cosey  cave  under 
the  rocky  hillside  near  by.  A  young  owlet,  fly 
ing  aimlessly  through  the  night,  flapped  itself 
through  an  opening  in  the  roof  intended  to  let 
out  the  smoke  ;  and  finding  it  difficult  to  escape 
by  the  place  where  it  had  entered,  settled  it 
self  comfortably  near  the  sleeper,  standing  on 
one  foot,  and  meditatively  regarding  the  strange 
creature  on  the  bed.  To  all  these  noises  Gra 
ham  was  deaf;  but  when  the  clatter  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  broke  the  silence,  that  strange  half-con 
sciousness  which  gives  warning  of  an  unaccus 
tomed  sound  called  his  slumbering  senses  to 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  2OQ 

awaken.  In  a  moment  he  was  perfectly  con 
scious,  and,  after  feeling  for  his  pistol,  lay  quietly 
down  again  upon  the  hard  couch.  The  rider 
might  not  pause  at  the  shanty,  and  as  he  was  in 
no  mood  for  company,  he  would  give  no  sign  of 
his  presence  there  until  it  was  necessary.  The 
hope  was  a  vain  one  ;  he  heard  the  rider  call  to  his 
horse  with  an  oath  to  stop.  After  a  slight  pause, 
the  door,  which  he  had  secured  with  a  wooden 
bar,  was  roughly  shaken.  The  new-comer,  find 
ing  the  portal  fast,  now  showed  himself  at  the 
little  window  and  peered  into  the  room.  Seeing 
a  recumbent  figure,  he  cried  out,  — 

"  Who  the is  in  this  shanty  ? " 

"  John  Graham  ;  and  who  is  outside  ?  " 
After  a  pause  the  voice  answered,  — 
"  A  man  as  wants  a  night's  rest  bad,  and  has 
got  as  good  a  right  to  it  as  anybody." 

"  Put  up  your  shooting-irons,  Horton,  and  I 
will  open  the  door." 

First  striking  a  match  and  lighting  his  candle, 
Graham  unfastened  the  bar,  and  the  light  door 
swung  wide.  The  figure  out  in  the  darkness 
peered  doubtfully  into  the  room. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  ;  I  am  alone,"  said  the  artist 
coolly,  seating  himself  upon  his  bunk,  and  pro 
ceeding  to  fill  his  pipe.  The  man  came  cau 
tiously  into  the  cabin,  looking  about  him  once 
more  to  make  sure  that  Graham  had  spoken  the 


2io  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

truth.  He  was  a  rough-looking  fellow,  with  a 
sinister  expression  of  countenance,  in  great  part 
owing  to  the  deep  scar  which  seamed  his  face 
from  temple  to  chin. 

The  stranger  seemed  a  good  deal  disconcerted 
at  finding  the  artist  ensconced  in  the  lodge. 

"  Did  n't  expect  to  find  anybody  —  least  of  all 
you  —  in  this  shanty." 

"  I  do  not  often  occupy  it  ;  though  I  built  it 
myself." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  You  ain't  got  a  mouthful  of 
bread  as  yer'd  let  a  man  have  as  has  fasted 
since  sunrise  ? " 

Graham's  answer  was  to  hand  him  a  couple 
of  rounds  of  hard-tack,  which  he  quickly  de 
voured  ;  and  to  pass  his  flask,  filled  with  the 
rough,  strong  wine  from  the  vineyards  of  Los 
Angeles.  The  fellow  poured  half  its  contents 
down  his  throat  at  one  draught,  wiping  his  mouth 
upon  the  sleeve  of  his  rough  jacket.  Then, 
with  a  nod  of  acknowledgment,  he  handed  back 
the  flask  with  a  regretful  sigh,  and  seating  him 
self  on  the  floor  by  the  fireplace,  warmed  his 
feet  in  the  still  hot  ashes. 

"  You  never  came  for  those  last  sittings,  Hor- 
ton ;  my  picture  is  not  finished  yet." 

"  You  see,  I  got  another  job  more  to  my  taste 
than  posturinV 

"  Are  you  working  in  the  neighborhood  ? " 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  2ll 

"  No  ;  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  Swindawl 
mines.  Do  you  live  in  these  yer  parts  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  know  the  old  church  ?  I  live  in 
the  tower.'* 

"  Rum  place,  that ;  passed  it  to-day." 

"  If  you  want  to  earn  a  little  money  to  pay 
your  travelling  expenses,  I  should  like  to  finish 
that  picture." 

The  man  did  not  answer,  but  stretched  his 
great  limbs  and  yawned. 

"  It 's  blasted  cold  for  the  season." 

Graham  nodded  assent,  blowing  a  great  cloud 
of  tobacco-smoke  from  his  lips,  and  composing 
in  his  mind,  meanwhile,  a  picture  in  which  this 
wild-looking  fellow,  with  his  rough  hair  and 
coarse,  strong  outlines,  formed  the  central  figure. 
He  was  of  a  low  type  of  humanity,  with  a  nar 
row  forehead  and  large,  heavy  features ;  his  face 
was  tanned  where  the  skin  was  visible,  the  heavy 
beard  growing  high  up  on  the  cheeks,  leaving 
little  uncovered  surface.  His  clothes  were  some 
what  dilapidated,  but  his  wide  sombrero  hat  and 
high  boots  were  strong  and  whole.  His  figure 
was  superbly  developed,  and  Herculean  in  type. 
As  he  sat  crouching  on  the  floor,  hugging  his 
knees,  his  back  braced  against  the  wall  behind 
him,  he  nodded  wearily,  and,  after-  various  abor 
tive  attempts  at  conversation,  finally  fell  into 
a  sound  sleep,  his  head  resting  against  the  wall 


212  SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH. 

behind  him.  Graham  took  a  charred  brand  from 
the  hearth,  and  with  this  rough  tool  drew,  on  a 
smooth  board  in  the  side  of  the  cabin,  a  sketch 
of  the  man  before  him.  As  he  looked  narrowly 
at  his  model^  he  perceived  that  his  face  was  dis 
figured  by  some  recent  scratches  from  which 
the  blood  was  still  unwashed.  They  were  got 
while  riding  through  a  thorny  thicket,  the  artist 
fancied,  and  thought  no  more  about  them,  touch 
ing  in  the  details  of  the  desolate  background. 
The  man's  expression  was  hardly  human  in  his 
sleep,  the  fierce  animal  face  was  so  stupid  and 
brutish.  It  is  wonderful  how  character  is  ex 
pressed  in  a  sleeping  countenance.  The  studied 
or  unconscious  control  which  we  hold  over  our 
features  when  awake  is  overthrown  in  slumber, 
and  the  real  nature  is  seen  with  no  polite  re 
straint  or  deceitful  mask.  A  beautiful  woman  is 
beautiful  no  longer  while  sleeping,  if  she  have  a 
bad  heart.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  look  upon 
one  who  is  dear  to  us  in  sleep.  Even  when  the 
countenance  shadows  forth  holy  dreams,  it  is 
awful  to  watch  its  still  composure,  so  like  death, 
and  to  feel  that  impassable  distance  between  the 
unfettered  soul  and  our  own  earth-bound  spirit,— 
that  distance  which,  but  for  the  briefest  spaces, 
is  never  bridged  over  in  our  whole  lives,  though 
they  flow  quietly  side  by  side  through  peaceful 
days  and  happy  nights. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 


213 


Though  the  man  had  closed  his  eyes  in  the 
knowledge  that  it  was  entirely  safe  for  him  to 
sleep  in  Graham's  presence,  his  slumber  was  not 
an  easy  one.  He  started  often  and  groaned 
more  than  once ;  while  his  hand  nervously  made 
the  movement  of  striking  with  a  weapon  at  some 
unseen  foe.  The  artist  watched  him  for  some 
minutes. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  another  day's  work  on 
that  rascal's  torso,"  he  said  at  last ;  "  I  suppose 
if  I  paid  him  enough  he  would  come  to  the 
tower." 

As  he  spoke  he  tore  a  leaf  from  his  note 
book,  and  writing  a  few  lines  upon  it  placed  it 
in  the  fellow's  nerveless  hands,  lest  he  should 
steal  away  before  morning.  Then  he  threw 
himself  back  and  slept  again  long  and  heavily. 
When  he  awoke  it  was  broad  daylight  in  the 
cabin  of  which  he  found  himself  the  sole  occu 
pant.  At  first  he  wondered  if  he  had  dreamed 
that  his  lodging  had  been  shared  by  a  rough 
companion  ;  but  no,  there  was  the  sketch  upon 
the  wall  of  the  sleeping  figure  crouching  by  the 
fireplace.  Besides,  his  visitor  had  left  a  trace 
of  his  presence.  Near  the  spot  where  he  had 
sat  lay  a  handkerchief.  The  artist  carelessly 
picked  up  the  square  of  white  linen,  somewhat 
surprised  to  find  that  it  was  of  the  finest  quality. 
A  red  stain  on  one  corner  induced  him  to  ex- 


214 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 


amine  it  more  carefully.  It  was  neatly  stitched 
with  an  odd  pattern  which  was  not  unfamiliar  to 
him,  and  in  one  corner  was  an  embroidered 
monogram  of  an  intricate  form.  The  letters 
were  cunningly  twisted  together,  and  it  took  him 
several  minutes  to  distinguish  them.  Two  L's, 
an  I,  a  T,  an  E,  an  N,  and  a  C,  all  enclosed  in  a 
large  M.  Nobody  in  the  world  could  have  so 
many  initials,  not  even  a  Spanish  grandee.  It 
must  be  a  name,  probably  one  beginning  with 
M,  as  that  was  the  most  prominent  letter  in  the 
chiffre.  He  studied  it  for  an  instant,  and  sud 
denly  cried  aloud  that  name  which  had  become 
so  dear  to  him,  —  "  Millicent !  " 

What  could  it  mean  ?  Millicent's  handker 
chief  in  the  possession  of  that  ruffianly  fellow, 
the  dark  crimson  stain  of  blood  marring  its 
whiteness?  What  could  have  befallen  her?  He 
dared  not  even  think  of  what  this  portended ; 
and  thrusting  it  into  his  breast,  he  ran  to  the 
door  and  looked  all  about  him.  Silence  every 
where  ;  no  movement  in  the  copse  before  the 
door;  no  .trace  of  his  late  visitor  save  the  broken 
branch  of  a  buckeye  near  which  his  horse  had 
been  tethered. 

Graham  was  a  brave  man,  with  nerves  at  once 
sensitive  and  strong ;  but  the  picture  which  rose 
before  his  eyes  unmanned  him  for  the  moment 
completely.  He  leaned  against  the  door-post 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  21$ 

quaking  with  terror,  too  much  confused  to  know 
what  next  to  do.  He  could  not  think  ;  he  only 
saw  that  villanous  face  before  him  in  its  heavy 
sleep,  that  clinching  of  the  hand,  that  motion  as 
of  stabbing  with  a  knife.  In  the  breast  of 
what  victim  had  that  weapon  been  buried  ?  At 
the  recollection  of  what  crime  had  he  groaned 
aloud  ? 

The  neighing  of  his  horse  in  the  thicket  near 
by  roused  him  from  the  benumbing  horror  which 
had  bound  him  like  a  trance.  He  mounted  the 
fiery  animal,  and  struck  him  fiercely  with  his 
spur.  The  mustang  darted  forward  at  a  break 
neck  speed,  and  with  flying  hoofs  carried  his 
rider  over  the  steep  trail  which  led  from  the 
cabin  to  the  house  of  the  San  Rosario  Ranch. 
It  was  a  rude  road,  sometimes  merely  indicated 
by  signs  on  the  trees,  at  other  places  worn  by 
the  feet  of  cattle  ;  it  led  through  dry  river- 
courses  and  down  precipitous  planes,  through 
tangled  brakes  and  over  desolate,  blackened 
rpaces  where  fire  had  passed  and  blasted  the 
tiees,  leaving  them  dead  and  gray,  with  naked 
branches  and  bare  roots.  No  vegetation  was 
here ;  only  black,  dry  soil.  It  was  a  dangerous 
journey,  none  too  safe  at  any  time  ;  but  neither 
rider  nor  steed  hesitated  at  sharp  turns  or  steep 
descents  ;  and  the  pace  slackened  not,  though  the 
horse  foamed  at  the  mouth  and  the  man's  face 


2l6  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

and  hands  were  cut  to  bleeding  by  the  low- 
hanging  branches  of  the  thorn-tree.  Twenty- 
five  miles,  at  the  lowest  rating,  lay  between  the 
cabin  and  the  house.  How  well  Graham  knew 
the  way  !  How  often  he  had  passed  over  it  with 
Hal  and  O'Neil !  —  a  jolly  trio  of  sportsmen.  The 
very  day  before  he  had  loitered  along  the  same 
route,  taking  the  whole  day  to  accomplish  the 
distance,  walking  sometimes  with  his  horse  fol 
lowing  him,  and  never  travelling  at  a  greater 
speed  than  an  easy  trot.  How  different  his 
thoughts  had  been  then,  when  he  had  fancied 
that  he  had  found  a  closer  companionship  than 
that  of  a  loving  woman's  heart.  Now  he  saw 
not  the  trees  nor  the  wood  creatures,  —  only 
that  one  villanous  face,  with  its  freshly  bleeding 
wounds,  with  its  old  scar  red  and  ugly. 

Five  miles  accomplished :  here  is  the  great 
oak-tree  which  the  lightning  had  struck  half  a 
century  ago;  but  twenty  miles  now  lie  before  him. 
Another  landmark  is  passed,  —  the  iron  spring, 
with  its  red  mouth  framed  in  green  ferns,  where 
he  had  once  journeyed  to  bring  her  a  flask  of 
the  strengthening  water.  On  and  on  they  fly, 
startling  the  birds  in  the  thickets  and  the  foxes 
in  their  coverts,  racing  with  the  lazy  breeze  which 
puffs  slowly  along  and  is  soon  left  behind  by  the 
horse's  speed.  At  the  spring  on  the  hillside, 
where  Millicent's  hand  had  checked  his  shooting 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH. 

of  the  deer,  the  rider  draws  rein  and  springs  to 
the  ground  ;  while  the  gasping  horse  stands  for 
a  brief  breathing-space,  drawing  long,  painful 
breaths.  Graham  cools  his  heated  brow  in  the 
rocky  basin,  and  gives  his  horse  a  mouthful  of 
the  refreshing  water.  Then  they  start  away 
again  towards  the  house  where  so  many  happy 
hours  of  his  life  have  been  spent ;  where  he  first 
saw  Millicent !  It  is  a  terrible  ride,  and  one 
that  the  man  never  will  forget  to  his  dying  day. 
The  anguish  of  doubt  and  fear,  the  awful  pace  at 
which  he  rides,  which  makes  every  mile  he  ac 
complishes  seem  like  to  be  the  last,  will  never 
be  forgotten  by  him  in  the  quiet  after-years. 
Now  but  ten  miles  separate  him  from  the  vine- 
clad  house  ;  quickly  are  they  accomplished  ;  and 
in  a  space  of  time  too  short  to  be  credited  by 
those  towards  whom  he  rides,  he  reaches  the 
high  hill  which  looks  down  upon  the  valley. 
The  familiar  look  of  the  surroundings  surprises 
him.  A  blue  feather  of  smoke  curls  about  the 
red  chimney  ;  the  trees  in  the  orchard,  the  cattle 
browsing  on  the  hills,  look  just  as  he  has  seen 
them  a  thousand  times  before  ;  nothing  betokens 
any  unusual  state  of  affairs  within  the  quiet 
house.  The  brave  horse  gathers  himself  to 
gether  for  a  last  gallop ;  and  the  stones  of  the 
hillside  fly  from  his  hoofs  as  man  and  beast 
thunder  down  the  rocky  path  which  loses  itself 


218  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

in  the  wide  farm-road  at  the  edge  of  the  orchard. 
From  this  point  he  commands  a  view  of  Milli- 
cent's  window.  He  gives  a  low  groan  as  he 
looks  up  for  some  sign  of  life,  —  the  heavy  blinds 
are  tightly  closed. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  Most  sacrilegious  murder  hath  broke  ope 
The  Lord's  anointed  temple,  and  stole  thence 
The  life  o'  the  building." 

THE  breakfast  table  at  the  San  Rosario  Ranch 
was  usually  a  merry  one  ;  but  on  the  morning 
after  what  Hal  had  called  Millicent's  "  magnetic 
exhibition,"  the  usual  good  spirits  were  missing. 
Millicent  took  her  accustomed  place  at  Deering's 
side  ;  and  Galbraith  marked  the  extraordinary 
change  which  she  had  suffered  since  she  had 
bade  him  good-night  the  evening  before.  Her 
face  had  blanched  to  a  whiteness  which  made 
the  ebon  lines  of  eyebrows  and  lashes  seem  un 
natural.  Her  mouth  was  pale  and  contracted, 
and  her  expression  of  horrified  anticipation  re 
minded  him  of  the  look  in  the  eyes  of  a  deer  at 
bay.  What  could  have  come  to  the  girl  ?  he 
asked  himself  in  dismay;  with  a  strange  con 
sciousness  that  whatever  should  befall  her  of 
good  or  evil  from  that  time  forth  would  have  to 
him  an  interest  beyond  all  else  in  the  world.  She 
ate  her  breakfast  mechanically,  and  answered 
all  that  was  said  in  which  she  could  be  supposed 


220  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

to  have  an  interest.  She  laughed  once,  too, 
at  one  of  Hal's  jokes  ;  but  the  sound  was  rough 
and  strained.  Mrs.  Deering  and  Barbara,  occu 
pied  with  some  household  complication,  merely 
noticed  that  Millicent  seemed  tired  ;  and  Hal  put 
her  odd  look  and  manner  down  to  the  score  of 
her  being  in  love,  which  in  his  eyes  accounted  for 
every  freak  or  unexplained  symptom  of  hers. 

It  had  been  proposed  that  the  day  should  be 
spent  out-of-doors,  at  a  place  which  Millicent 
had  long  wished  to  visit,  —  the  little  island  in  the 
river,  below  the  deserted  mill.  Galbraith  had  re 
mained  to  be  of  the  party  ;  and  his  two  friends 
had  promised  to  ride  over  from  the  camp  and 
join  them  at  the  appointed  place.  Just  before 
they  started,  old  John  arrived  with  a  note  to 
Mrs.  Deering  from  Graham,  who  wrote  that  he 
should  not  be  able  to  be  of  the  party.  Hal  and 
Millicent  drove  together,  as  they  had  done  on 
that  day  when  Graham,  in  accordance  with  Cali 
fornia  etiquette,  had  stopped  to  kill  the  rattle 
snakes.  Old  Sphinx  was  doing  his  best  to  keep 
up  with  the  mule  team,  when  Millicent's  sensi 
tive  ears  detected  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  be 
hind  them.  Presently,  through  the  thick  cloud 
of  dust,  she  descried  two  horsemen  riding  at  full 
gallop  towards  them.  The  sunlight  and  the 
veil  of  dust  made  it  impossible  to  see  what  man 
ner  of  men  they  were  until  Millicent  observed 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  221 

that  each  carried  over  his  shoulder  a  long  object, 
which  glittered  in  the  sunlight. 

"  Have  you  brought  your  pistols  ? "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  Princess,  but  they  are  in  the  wagon. 
I  expected  till  the  last  moment  that  Graham 
would  turn  up  to  take  you,  and  that  I  should 
drive  the  team.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  There  is  no 
danger  of  our  being  molested." 

"  Look  at  those  men.  Are  not  those  gun  bar 
rels  I  see  on  their  shoulders  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  but  they  are  probably  peaceful  hunters." 

The  young  man  spoke  in  a  perfectly  careless 
tone,  to  reassure  his  companion  ;  but  Millicent 
noticed  that  he  occasionally  looked  behind  him 
as  the  riders  gained  on  them.  Finally,  as  the 
men  drew  near,  Millicent  saw  the  rider  nearest 
her  shift  the  gun  from  his  shoulder  and  rest  it 
across  the  saddle-bow,  as  if  preparing  to  take  aim. 
Hal,  who  had  seen  the  action,  instantly  called  to 
Millicent  to  catch  the  reins,  and  held  up  both  his 
hands.  By  this  time  the  men  were  close  upon 
them,  and  the  one  who  had  shifted  his  weapon 
called  out  in  a  rough  voice,  — 

"  All  right,  boss  ;  we  know  you  ain't  got  no 
money,  and  we  don't  want  your  life  to-day." 
His  companion  laughed  aloud,  and  striking 
spurs  to  their  horses,  they  galloped  down  the 
high-road.  Hal  laughed  as  heartily  as  the  sup 
posed  highwayman,  saying, — 


222  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

"  Well,  that 's  a  greaser's  idea  of  a  joke,  I 
suppose.  Adventure  number  one  has  befallen 
us  with  few  bad  consequences.  I  don't  think 
you  were  half  as  frightened  as  you  were  the 
other  day  by  the  snakes." 

"  No,  I  fancy  I  was  not.  I  should  not  much 
mind  being  killed  to-day."  This  with  a  little, 
bitter  laugh. 

"  And  why  ?  Let  us  wait  till  after  luncheon. 
Barbara  has  put  up  a  capital  venison  pasty,  —  a 
real  English  one,  out  of  the  Queen's  own  receipt 
book." 

"  Well,  we  will  wait  for  the  pie,  to  please 
you." 

The  drive  was  accomplished  with  the  usual 
desultory  chit-chat,  Hal  doing  rather  more  than 
his  share  of  the  joking.  As  they  passed  the 
little  hovel,  the  wild  children  ran  out,  as  they 
had  upon  the  day  when  they  had  visited  the 
camp  in  the  woods  ;  and  soon  the  gray  bridge 
and  the  little  island  were  reached.  The  baskets 
were  unpacked  and  the  luncheon  spread  upon  the 
grass  by  the  time  the  guests  arrived.  Among 
them  were  O'Neil,  Hartley,  Ferrara,  and  Mrs. 
Shallop,  who  had  come  over  by  the  train  ;  with 
a  party  of  people  from  the  village,  in  whom 
Millicent  had  never  taken  much  interest.  Gal- 
braith  never  left  Millicent's  side  ;  sparing  her  the 
necessity  of  talking  by  keeping  up  an  incessant 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  22$ 

stream  of  conversation  which  she  heard  vaguely, 
and  of  which  she  understood  not  one  word.  In 
after  days  the  import  of  all  the  young  man  said 
came  back  to  her ;  and  she  remembered  the 
quaint  Indian  legends,  the  reminiscences  of  life 
on  the  two  edges  of  the  continent,  with  which 
Maurice  Galbraith  kept  the  others  of  the  party 
from  her  side.  She  realized  what  he  was  doing, 
and  knew  that  he  only,  in  all  the  company,  un 
derstood  and  sympathized  with  her  half-dazed 
mood  ;  and  for  his  efforts  he  received  more  than 
one  little  smile,  sadder  than  tears. 

This  is  one  of  the  stories  which  the  lawyer 
told  her:  — 

"  In  the  old  days,  when  Father  Junipero  and 
his  small  band  of  priests  and  soldiers  came  into 
the  wilderness  of  California,  with  the  cross  up 
lifted  in  one  hand,  the  sword  grasped  in  the 
other,  there  lived  on  this  island  where  we  now 
sit,  a  beautiful  Indian  maiden.  Her  name  was  a 
very  long  one,  and  its  meaning  in  our  language 
is  the  Smile  of  the  Morning.  She  lived  with 
the  old  chief,  her  father,  in  a  wigwam,  where  also 
lived  her  sisters  and  brothers  and  various  of  her 
cousins  and  distant  relatives.  The  old  chief  had 
many  daughters,  but  the  Smile  of  the  Morning 
was  his  favorite  child  ;  and  she  it  was  who  cooked 
his  food  for  him,  when  he  did  not  eat  it  raw,  and 
brought  him  his  bow  and  arrows  when  he  started 


224  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

on  a  hunting  party.  The  sisters  of  the  favorite 
daughter  all  found  mates  among  the  sons  of  the 
tribe,  but  she  lived  alone  with  only  the  wild 
bird  in  the  madrone  tree  for  her  lover.  Her  sis 
ters,  each  of  whom  carried  a  pappoose  upon  her 
back,  laughed  at  the  Smile  of  the  Morning,  and 
said  that  she  would  die  without  a  husband  ;  but 
the  girl  did  not  mind  them.  She  was  taller,  by 
a  head,  than  any  woman  of  the  tribe  ;  she  could 
charm  the  wild  birds,  and  draw  the  feathers  from 
their  tails  to  make  head-dresses  for  the  old  chief 
and  ornaments  for  herself;  she  could  dance  war- 
dances  like  one  of  the  braves,  only  with  more 
grace  ;  and  when  she  told  the  stories  which  the 
fishes  in  the  river  whispered  to  her,  the  old  chief 
tain  nodded  his  head  wisely  and  patted  the  girl 
on  the  shoulder.  She  should  find  a  husband  in 
good  time ;  but  he  must  be  as  much  taller  and 
stronger  than  the  other  men  of  the  tribe,  as  she 
was  fairer  and  wiser  than  her  sisters. 

"  When  the  missionary  priests  came,  with 
their  white  faces  and  strange  garments  fashioned 
neither  from  the  skin  of  any  animal  nor  from 
the  feathers  of  any  bird,  and  made  friendly 
overtures  to  the  old  chief,  the  Smile  of  the  Morn 
ing  fell  upon  her  face  in  terror.  The  Indians 
would  have  worshipped  the  men  with  the  white 
faces  and  strange  tongue ;  but  to  prove  to  them 
that  they  too  were  men  and  adored  a  God,  the 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  22$ 

priests  held  their  services  and  kneeled  to  the 
Great  Spirit  whom  they  reverenced.  When  the 
new-comers  had  learned  the  language  of  the  In 
dian^  and  had  built  themselves  a  house  and  a 
greater  house  to  their  God,  the  daughter  of  the 
chief  grew  to  be  no  longer  afraid  of  the  black- 
robed  figures.  She  eagerly  learned  the  simple 
lessons  which  they  set  for  the  people  ;  and  it 
was  because  of  the  wonderful  learning  that  they 
gave  her  that  she  studied  so  industriously,  and 
not,  like  her  brothers  and  sisters,  to  gain  the 
daily  rations  of  corn.  When  the  early  bell 
called  the  Indians  to  the  church  of  the  San  Ro- 
sario  Mission,  the  Smile  of  the  Morning  was  the 
first  to  answer  the  summons  ;  and  when  the  other 
Indians  were  squabbling  over  their  breakfast  of 
maize,  she  lingered  in  the  sanctuary,  trying  to 
fathom  the  strange  rites  which  were  so  much 
holier  than  those  of  her  people,  looking  into  the 
painted  faces  in  the  pictures  over  the  rude  altar, 
and  feeling  curiously  behind  them  to  ascertain 
whether  the  backs  also  were  painted. 

"  The  soldiers  who  upheld  the  authority  of  the 
priests  were  encouraged  by  large  bounties  and 
grants  of  land  to  marry  the  converted  squaws  ; 
and  in  the  course  of  time  several  such  unions 
were  solemnized  at  the  Mission.  Among  the 
stern  old  pioneer  priests  was  one  young  man 
dear  to  the  Father  Junipero,  whose  pupil  he  had 
15 


226  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

been,  and  who  had  followed  the  famous  man  on 
his  great  mission  of  converting  the  heathen  In 
dians.  His  name  was  Fra  Antonio.  His  voice 
was  soft  and  low,  and  his  eyes  open  and  sad, 
with  shadows  in  them,  which  the  Indian  maiden 
had  never  seen  in  other  eyes,  —  shadows  like 
those  cast  by  the  white  clouds  floating  before  the 
sun's  face  on  hot  summer  afternoons.  Fra  Anto 
nio  was  very  kind  to  the  tall  beauty  of  the  tribe, 
and  with  a  never-failing  patience  strove  to  make 
the  doctrines  of  his  religion  clear  to  her  simple 
understanding.  Strange  were  the  means  by 
which  the  fathers  learned  to  expound  their  re 
ligion  to  the  savages.  To  express  the  great  hope 
of  the  resurrection,  they  put  a  number  of  insects 
in  a  vessel  of  water,  leaving  them  there  till  they 
were  apparently  quite  dead.  Then  the  crea 
tures  were  placed  in  a  bank  of  hot  ashes,  which 
warmed  their  frozen,  half-dead  bodies  back  to 
life.  When  the  gauzy  wings  were  spread,  carry 
ing  the  insects  up  into  the  sunshine  again,  the 
fathers  marked  the  words  ejaculated  by  the 
Indians,  and  by  that  term  they  called  the  resur 
rection. 

"New  and  beautiful  were  the  thoughts  which 
now  possessed  the  mind  of  the  Indian  girl.  She 
learned  that  to  forgive  was  nobler  than  to  avenge, 
—  strangest  of  all  doctrines  taught  by  the  priests 
to  the  red  men.  She  learned  that  the  stars,  pale 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  22/ 

and  fiery,  were  great  worlds  like  the  one  in 
which  she  lived,  and  not  the  hearts  of  the  brave 
chiefs  placed  in  the  heavens  after  death  as  she 
had  always  been  taught.  Only  the  simplest  of 
the  great  truths  which  lie  like  jewels  in  the 
tawdry  setting  of  the  Mother  Church,  did  Fra 
Antonio  instil  into  her  childish  mind,  which  with 
an  unquestioning  faith  accepted  all  the  young 
priest  taught.  Few  among  the  tribe  —  per 
haps,  indeed,  no  one  of  the  Indians  beside  the 
Smile  of  the  Morning  —  understood  or  believed 
the  new  doctrines  taught  by  the  priests.  These 
were  satisfied  that  the  rites  of  baptism  and  of 
extreme  unction  were  administered,  and  that 
the  daily  services  were  attended,  quite  conscious 
that  their  most  potent  weapon  of  conversion  was 
the  ration  of  atole,  or  prepared  corn,  which  they 
served  out  to  the  lazy  braves.  As  soon  as  he 
became  a  member  of  the  church,  every  redskin 
was  cared  for,  and  a  gentle  slavery  was  the 
result,  in  which  the  priests  exacted  a  certain 
amount  of  labor  from  the  Indian,  in  turn  feed 
ing  him  and  caring  for  his  wants.  The  art  of 
weaving  was  taught,  together  with  civilized  agri 
culture  ;  and  the  fruit  of  the  vines  was  fer 
mented  into  strong,  rough  wine,  this  being  re 
served  for  the  service  of  the  altar  and  the  table 
of  the  priests.  In  the  eyes  of  the  zealous  mis 
sionaries  the  Indian  was  the  rightful  owner  of 


228  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

the  soil ;  and  there  was  no  thought  of  disputing 
his  claim  to  it.  It  was  that  he  might  better  and 
more  wisely  enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  own  land, 
and  in  the  next  life  enter  the  happier  home  pre 
pared  for  all  true  followers  of  the  Church  of 
Rome,  that  the  Father  Junipero  and  his  band 
of  soldiers  and  priests  lived  and  died  in  the 
wilderness  of  California.  How  their  treatment 
of  the  original  inhabitants  of  the  soil  differed 
from  that  adopted  by  the  enlightened  race  which 
now  claims  the  country,  you  have  seen  enough,  or 
at  any  rate  heard  enough,  of  our  Indian  policy 
to  appreciate.  Instead  of  improving  the  land 
for  its  owners,  as  did  the  brave  missionary 
priests,  we  have  wrested  it  from  them,  driving 
the  children  of  those  who  for  centuries  have 
owned  the  Pacific  coast  away  from  the  choicest 
spots  to  rocky,  desolate  lands  which  have  again 
been  taken  from  them  by  the  greedy  gold- 
hunters.  But  all  this  has  happened  since  the 
time  when  the  Smile -of  the  Morning  lived  upon 
this  pretty  island,  and  decked  her  glossy  hair 
with  a  coronet  of  blue-jays'  feathers,  that  she 
might  be  fair  in  the  eyes  of  one  whom  she 
loved.  But  a  year  had  passed  since  the  arrival 
of  Fra  Antonio,  when  the  old  chieftain  noticed 
that  his  daughter's  step  had  grown  heavy  and 
slow;  that  her  great  eyes  danced  no  more  ;  that 
her  countenance  no  longer  merited  the  name  of 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  22Q 

the  morning's  smile.  He  was  a  wise  old  man  for 
an  Indian  ;  and  after  thinking  the  matter  over 
for  a  week,  during  which  time  he  smoked  an 
unusual  number  of  pipes  of  tobacco,  he  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  girl  had  been  bewitched 
by  one  of  the  strange  priests.  Calling  her  to 
him,  he  questioned  her  as  to  the  cause  of  her 
altered  behavior ;  and  from  her  downcast  face 
and  embarrassed  replies  he  quickly  surmised  her 
secret.  The  Smile  of  the  Morning  loved  the 
fair  young  priest,  and  it  was  for  his  sake  that 
her  tears  flowed.  The  old  chief  at  first  scoffed 
at  her  infatuation,  and  bade  her  take  up  with 
one  of  her  dusky  suitors.  But  the  girl  was  ob 
stinate  ;  and  finally  yielding  to  her  whim,  the  old 
chief  himself  offered  his  daughter's  hand  to  Fra 
Antonio.  The  young  priest,  in  holy  horror,  took 
counsel  with  his  superiors  ;  and  it  was  explained 
to  the  chieftain  that  though  the  white  soldiers 
were  free  to  mate  with  the  maidens  of  the  tribe, 
the  priests  were  vowed  to  celibacy.  If  the  pious 
young  priest  had  unwittingly  mingled  an  unwise 
fervor  in  his  exhortations  to  the  Indian  girl,  he 
bitterly  regretted  his  fault.  As  day  by  day  he  saw 
her  elastic  figure  grow  more  feeble,  and  marked 
her  hollow  cheeks  and  her  sad  eyes  fixed  reproach 
fully  on  him  whilst  he  served  the  mass  or  taught 
the  new  converts,  a  tenderness  for  her,  which 
her  savage  health  and  perfections  had  failed  to 


230  SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH. 

arouse,  awoke  in  his  breast.  When  he  saw  the 
young  braves,  each  with  his  dusky  partner,  and 
the  sisters  of  the  Smile  of  the  Morning  with 
their  children  in  their  arms,  he  sometimes 
cursed  the  priestly  habit  which  proclaimed  him 
a  thing  apart  from  all  other  of  God's  creatures, 
doomed  to  live  unmated  and  alone.  Long 
vigils  and  heavy  penances  failed  to  ease  the 
grief  in  his  heart,  or  to  set  at  rest  its  yearn 
ing  toward  the  child  who  had  been  redeemed 
from  barbarism,  through  his  teaching,  to  live 
a  Christian  life  and  die  in  the  hope  of  his 
faith. 

"  At  last  the  battle  between  the  spirit  and  the 
heart  grew  too  terrible  for  him  to  bear ;  he  was 
not  strong  enough  ;  and  he  begged  the  fathers 
to  send  him  to  another  Mission  far  to  the  north 
ward.  When  the  Smile  of  the  Morning  learned 
that  Fra  Antonio  was  to  leave  the  Mission  on 
the  morrow,  she  decked  herself  in  all  her  jewels, 
hung  her  long  shell  necklaces  about  her  throat, 
wound  her  bead  bracelets  about  her  arms,  and 
placed  her  coronet  of  blue-jays'  feathers  upon 
her  brow.  She  was  not  to  be  found  that  night 
when  the  old  chief  lay  down  to  rest ;  and  when 
the  sun  rose  on  the  day  which  should  see  Fra 
Antonio  far  on  his  long  journey,  her  sisters 
found  the  maiden  lying  in  the  cool  waters  of  the 
river  which  washes  this  island,  with  the  little 


SAN-  ROSAR20  RANCH.  231 

rosary  the  priest  had  given  her  locked  in  her 
cold  fingers,  and  the  smile  upon  her  face  that 
had  been  missing  for  so  many  weeks.  They 
called  the  fathers  to  come  and  look  upon  her  ; 
and  Fra  Antonio  prayed  long  beside  her,  with 
streaming  eyes  and  broken  voice.  The  kiss 
which  his  sad  lips  laid  reverently  on  her  brow 
was  felt  perhaps,  for  all  those  who  stood  near 
heard  the  sigh  which  came  rustling  through  the 
trees  near  by.  As  she  had  wilfully  taken  her 
own  life,  the  poor  girl  could  not  be  buried  with 
the  ceremonies  of  the  church  to  which  she  had 
been  admitted  ;  so  she  was  interred  by  her  people 
near  the  spot  where  they  had  found  her,  on  this 
little  island  where  we  now  sit.  When  the  good 
fathers  sat  together  of  an  evening  and  discussed 
questions  spiritual  and  temporal  touching  the 
welfare  of  their  little  flock,  Fra  Antonio  was 
often  missing  from  their  midst.  Sometimes  the 
faint  sound  was  heard  of  the  church  bell  softly 
struck  by  a  tender  hand,  and  the  priests  crossed 
themselves  silently,  knowing  for  whose  soul  it 
was  that  Fra  Antonio  solemnized  the  mass  for 
the  dead." 

A  silence  followed  Galbraith's  story,  which 
was  broken  by  Millicent,  who  said,  — 

"  I  have  a  sketch  in  an  old  Italian  book  of  a 
beautiful  young  monk,  Fra  Antonio  by  name. 
Could  it  be  the  same,  I  wonder?" 


232  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  Who  knows  ?  Some  of  the  priests  were  Ital 
ians.  Would  the  dates  agree  ?  " 

"  The  portrait  was  dated  some  time  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  last  century." 

"  It  could  not  have  been  far  from  that  time 
that  the  Smile  of  the  Morning  met  her  sad 
fate." 

"Sad, — do  you  call  her  fate  sad  ?"  queried 
Millicent 

"  Who  could  think  it  otherwise  ?" 

"  I  surely  do.  Was  it  sad  to  die  for  the  man 
she  loved  ?  " 

"  It  would  have  been  happier  if  she  could  have 
lived  for  him." 

"  Happiness  !  Who  spoke  of  happiness  ?  Why 
talk  about  a  thing  so  mythical  ?  I  think  her  lot 
was  an  enviable  one.  To  her  simple  mind  the 
thought  that  suicide  is  sinful  could  never  have 
occurred.  She  might  not  follow  the  man  she 
loved ;  she  believed  that  the  soul  now  prisoned 
in  her  breast  might  always  be  near  him  ;  so  she 
opened  the  cage  and  let  the  bird  fly." 

"  You  speak  as  seriously  as  if  you  had  known 
the  Smile  of  the  Morning  and  sympathized  with 
her." 

"  It  is  the  privilege  of  those  who  have  greatly 
suffered,  that  the  grief  of  others  can  be  felt  and 
understood  by  them."  Millicent  spoke  absently, 
dreamily,  checking  her  speech  at  the  pained 


SAN  EOSAEIO  RANCH. 


233 


expression   which   her   words   brought   to    Gal- 
braith's  face. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  the  party  left  the  island 
and  wandered  about  the  old  bridge.  Some  of 
them  climbed  the  high  hill ;  others  struck  into 
the  woods.  By  some  chance  Millicent  found  her 
self  left  alone  near  the  mill  with  no  one  of  the 
party  near  her  save  Ah  Lam.  Calling  the  faith 
ful  creature  to  her  side,  she  made  him  prepare 
her  a  comfortable  seat,  and  leaning  back  against 
the  wall,  she  entered  into  a  desultory  conver 
sation  with  her  pupil.  Ah  Lam  often  told  her 
stories  in  his  broken  English,  descriptive  of  the 
power  and  character  of  the  most  august  person 
ages  of  the  Chinese  mythology.  To-day  he  found 
an  inattentive  listener  in  his  kind  friend  and 
teacher  ;  but  he  had  been  bidden  to  speak,  and  so 
he  talked  on  patiently,  describing  rites  of  death 
and  feasts  of  marriages,  recalling  the  great  river 
fete  which  he  had  witnessed  shortly  before  sail 
ing  from  his  native  city.  As  the  Chinaman 
paused  after  this  last  tale,  Millicent  heard  a  step 
approaching  the  door  of  the  old  mill.  She  looked 
up  carelessly,  expecting  to  see  one  of  the  gentle 
men.  The  man  who  stood  before  her  was  a 
stranger.  His  face  was  somewhat  flushed,  and 
he  looked  as  if  he  had  travelled  some  distance. 

"  Second  time,  my  lady,  I  Ve  see'd  yer  purty 
face  to-day." 


234  SAN  ROSARI°  RANCH. 

Millicent  bowed  her  head  and  turned  away, 
looking  anxiously  toward  the  wood,  where  she 
had  seen  Hal  disappear  a  few  moments  before. 

"  Sha'n't  let  yer  off  ser  aisy  this  time.  I  Ve 
took  a  fancy  to  see  the  color  of  yer  eyes." 

The  look  of  angry  indignation  with  which  the 
gray  orbs  were  turned  upon  the  man  was  enough 
to  have  abashed  any  sensitive  person,  but  to 
this  class  the  stranger  did  not  belong.  He  was 
a  rough-looking  fellow  of  large  stature,  with  a 
heavy  animal  face,  crossed  by  a  deep  scar  run 
ning  from  the  chin  to  the  forehead  on  the  right 
side.  In  his  belt  he  wore  a  pair  of  pistols,  at 
which  the  Chinaman  looked  uneasily. 

"  Say,  do  yer  belong  in  these  parts  ? " 

"  Yes,  "  answered  the  girl  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Well,  I  am  leavin'  'em  for  good  ;  we  're  not 
likely  to  meet  again.  I  'm  a  gentleman,  and  I 
don't  want  to  trouble  you  for  them  rings  o' 
yourn,  but  a  kiss  won't  cost  you  nothin'." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the  man  threw 
an  arm  about  the  girl's  slender  waist,  and  quick  as 
a  thought  began  to  drag  her  toward  the  spot  where 
a  couple  of  horses  were  tethered.  With  a  sud 
den  wrench,  she  shook  herself  free  from  his  rude 
clasp,  and  sped  down  the  path  calling  for  help. 
Help  was  nearer  to  her  than  she  had  thought, 
and  a  humble  friend  sprang  to  her  aid.  As  the 
insolent  creature  started  in  pursuit  of  the  swift- 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  235 

footed  girl,  Ah  Lam  adroitly  tripped  him  up, 
bringing  him  to  the  ground  with  a  heavy  fall. 
The  man  was  somewhat  bruised  by  his  tumble, 
a  sharp  stone  having  struck  his  arm.  He  arose 
with  difficulty,  pouring  out  a  volley  of  oaths  the 
like  of  which  had  never  before  desecrated  Milli- 
cent's  ears.  The  Chinaman,  knowing  full  well 
the  danger  which  his  temerity  had  brought  upon 
him,  ran  quickly  after  his  young  mistress.  The 
path  brought  them  to  the  border  of  the  stream, 
and  their  flight  was  stopped  by  this  obstacle. 
By  this  time,  the  man,  blind  with  rage,  had 
caught  up  with  the  two  fugitives  ;  he  seemed  in 
doubt  which  of  them  to  molest  first.  Millicent 
stood  with  flashing  eyes  and  curling  lip,  her 
head  thrown  back,  her  arms  folded  across  her 
breast,  looking  at  him  with  an  expression  of  scorn 
that  seemed  to  awe  him  for  a  moment.  He 
drew  back,  as  if  afraid  to  touch  so  beautiful  and 
wrathful  a  creature,  and  in  his  rage  clutched  the 
Chinaman  by  the  throat.  In  the  scuffle  which  en 
sued,  Ah  Lam's  hat  was  thrown  off,  and  the  long 
cue  coiled  about  his  head  fell  down.  Quick  as 
thought,  the  ruffian  seized  the  braid,  and  drawing 
a  sharp  knife  from  his  boot,  cut  it  from  the  head 
of  the  Chinaman.  With  a  shriek  which  had  the 
despair  of  a  double  death,  the  Chinaman  turned 
and  implanted  his  finger-nails  in  the  face  of  his 
adversary,  inflicting  ten  long  scratches  on  the 


236  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

cheeks.  The  crushed  worm  will  turn  at  last; 
and  the  poor  soul,  damned  for  eternity  by  the 
cutting  of  his  hair,  had  turned  upon  the  ruffian. 
Quick  as  the  fast-drawn  breath  of  the  terrified 
girl,  the  villain  lifted  his  long  knife  and,  with  a 
horrible  oath,  plunged  it  into  the  side  of  the 
Chinaman.  The  shrieks  of  the  victim,  the  hor 
ror-stricken  screams  of  the  girl,  the  sight  of  the 
blood,  seemed  to  madden  the  wretch  ;  for  he  tore 
the  quivering  knife  from  the  wound  and  stabbed 
him  again  and  again.  At  last  the  rage  for 
blood  seemed  satiated  ;  he  threw  the  mutilated 
body,  still  breathing,  to  ebb  out  its  life  on 
the  soil,  and  turned  with  bloody  hands  and  seared 
eyes  toward  Millicent,  who  had  sunk  upon  her 
knees,  lifting  the  head  of  the  dying  Chinaman 
to  her  young  breast. 

The  closed  lids  fluttered  open,  the  dimmed 
eyes  looked  gratefully  for  the  last  time  into  the 
face  of  the  girl  who  had  been  kinder  to  him 
than  any  other  creature  in  this  strange  land 
where  he  had  worked  so  faithfully,  where  he 
had  been  so  cruelly  oppressed  in  life,  and  so 
foully  murdered ;  hope  of  Heaven  being  closed 
to  him  before  his  miserable  breath  had  been 
taken  The  horror  of  his  crime  must  have  over 
come  the  ruffian  for  a  moment,  for  he  paused 
and  silently  watched  the  death-agonies  of  his 
victim.  To  that  moment's  feeling  of  horror  or 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  237 

remorse,  what  might  not  Millicent  owe  ?  For 
soon,  to  her  it  seemed  an  eternity,  the  men, 
whose  answering  shouts  she  had  not  heard,  ap 
peared  close  at  hand.  The  murderer  saw  them 
none  too  quickly  for  his  safety,  and  springing 
upon  his  horse,  which  stood  near  by,  clapped 
spurs  to  the  flank  and  rode  off  at  a  hand  gallop 
in  the  opposite  direction. 

Galbraith  rushed  to  Millicent' s  side  and  lifted 
the  dying  creature  from  her  breast.  They 
placed  him  gently  upon  the  bank,  and  Hal  put 
his  flask  to  his  lips  ;  but  it  was  too  late.  With 
one  last  struggle  Ah  Lam  yielded  up  his  mis 
erable  life  ;  and  Millicent's  cry  of  pity  sounded 
his  death-knell.  Then  she  lifted  her  hands  to 
Heaven  and  prayed  for  the  soul  of  the  poor 
creature  who  had  so  bravely  defended  her.  An 
hour  ago  she  had  smiled  at  Fra  Antonio's 
masses  for  the  repose  of  the  Smile  of  the  Morn 
ing.  In  moments  like  these  the  strong  instincts 
of  men  and  women  overcome  the  reasons  and 
doctrines  of  education ;  Millicent  prayed,  believ 
ing  that  she  should  be  heard. 

When  it  became  evident  to  the  little  group 
which  had  silently  assembled  about  the  spot, 
that  poor  Ah  Lam  was  beyond  human  help, 
Maurice  Galbraith  and  Henry  Deering  lifted  the 
lifeless  body  and  laid  it  in  the  great  wagon. 
Millicent  followed  and  drew  over  the  dead  face 


238  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

the  white  cloak  which  she  had  worn  all  that 
day.  Pedro,  climbing  to  his  seat,  touched  the 
mules  into  motion  ;  and  the  wagon,  which  had 
carried  so  merry  a  freight  to  the  gray  bridge 
that  morning,  returned  at  sunset  over  the  same 
path  with  its  ghastly  burden,  —  a  very  funeral 
car. 

Maurice  Galbraith  gently  placed  Millicent  be 
side  Barbara  and  her  mother  in  the  smaller 
carriage,  which  was  driven  back  to  the  Ranch 
under  the  escort  of  Ferrara,  O'Neil,  and  Hart 
ley.  Then  the  young  lawyer,  with  Henry  Deer- 
ing  to  bear  him  company,  started  in  pursuit 
of  the  murderer.  He  had  sworn  a  silent  oath, 
as  he  stood  by  the  dying  man,  and  learned  that 
his  life  had  been  given  to  protect  Millicent, 
that  Ah  Lam  should  be  avenged.  If  there 
were  law  and  justice  in  the  broad  land  of  Cali 
fornia,  the  murderer  should  suffer  the  extreme 
penalty  for  wilful  and  wicked  shedding  of  inno 
cent  blood.  In  pursuit  rode  the  two  young  men, 
with  stern  faces ;  and  it  was  well  for  the  fugitive 
that  he  had  a  long  start  of  them,  for  they  rode 
as  men  do  when  time  must  be  gained  at  all  costs. 
Along  the  narrow  bridle-path,  over  which  the 
murderer  had  passed,  they  took  their  way,  and 
were  soon  lost  to  the  view  of  the  three  women 
sitting  close  together  in  troubled  silence.  Bar 
bara's  strong  hands  held  the  reins  and  plied  the 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  239 

whip,  while  streams  of  tears  coursed  down  her 
cheeks.  Mrs.  Deering  patted  her  daughter's 
shoulder  ;  but  it  was  on  Millicent  her  attention 
was  most  firmly  fixed.  The  girl  had  not  moved 
since  Galbraith  had  placed  her  in  the  carriage. 
Her  eyes  were  strained  wide  open,  and  the  ex 
pression  in  their  depths  was  one  which  the 
gentle  woman  never  forgot,  —  a  look  as  of  an 
endless  despair  and  horror.  Back  to  the  happy 
valley  they  drove  silently,  no  joyous  young  voices 
carolling  out  ballads  of  love,  songs  of  battle,  as 
was  their  wont  ;  in  silence  and  grief  they  passed 
over  the  familiar  road  through  the  gap  between 
the  guardian  hills,  back  to  the  quiet  house,  to 
herald  the  advent  of  the  humble  dead  to  those 
who  had  been  his  fellow-servants. 

No  one  told  Millicent  that  standing  near  the 
spot  where  the  ruffian's  horse  had  been  tethered 
was  a  second  steed.  A  strong  mustang  saddled 
and  bridled  was  found  there.  A  heavy  leading- 
rein  passed  through  the  bit,  and  a  stout  rope 
lying  over  the  saddle,  gave  a  sinister  significance 
to  the  fact.  For  whom  had  that  horse  been 
brought  ? 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"  Abroad  it  rushed, 
My  frolic  soul,  for  it  had  sight 
Of  something  half-way,  which  was  known 
As  mine  at  once,  yet  not  mine  own." 

IT  was  early  in  the  morning  for  Millicent,  usually 
a  late  sleeper,  to  be  in  the  garden  among  the 
flowers.  There  Graham  found  her,  white  as  the 
gown  she  wore,  standing  with  her  arms  filled 
with  dark-red  roses,  —  standing  with  the  sun 
light  touching  her  pretty  hair,  and  shining  in  her 
cool  gray  eyes.  He  stared  at  her,  as  at  one 
risen  from  the  dead  ;  he  touched  her  hand  be 
fore  he  spoke  to  her,  to  make  sure  that  it  was 
really  she,  alive,  with  softly  heaving  breast  and 
warm,  clinging  fingers.  Alive,  and  not  as  he 
had  pictured  her  a  thousand  times  during  that 
terrible  ride,  —  cold  and  dead,  with  the  stain 
which  had  dyed  her  kerchief,  on  brow  and 
bosom.  For  a  long  time  they  stood  silently 
looking  into  each  other's  faces  ;  and  then  the 
man  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his  arm,  and  to 
gether  they  passed  down  the  orchard  road,  across 
a  space  of  sunburnt  meadow,  to  a  spot  they 


SAN  EOSAR10  RANCH.  241 

both  knew,  —  Millicent's  boudoir,  hanging  over 
the  narrow  stream,  walled  by  six  tall  redwoods 
grown  from  the  seeds  of  some  giant  predeces 
sor,  carpeted  with  thick  green  moss,  furnished 
with  two  rough  seats.  Here  they  rested  silently 
for  a  time,  —  Graham  drawing  long  breaths  of  the 
morning  air  to  relax  his  tired  lungs  ;  Millicent 
resting  her  wearied  heart  with  looking  at  him,  all 
her  soul  shining  through  her  eyes.  Graham  first 
broke  the  silence  with  questions  of  all  that  had 
happened  since  they  had  parted.  She  told  him 
of  her  danger,  and  of  the  murder  of  the  China 
man,  in  a  low  voice,  full  of  awe.  It  had  been 
her  first  knowledge  of  death  ;  and  the  chill  reality, 
the  only  certain  thing  which  men  look  forward 
to,  had  first  been  known  by  her  now  that  she  was 
a  woman  grown,  and  could  fully  understand  its 
dreadful  significance.  Hitherto,  death  had  been 
a  phrase  only ;  a  thing  which  must  come  to 
all  creatures,  as  a  matter  of  course.  That  she 
should  sometime  die  she  knew,  but  only  by  tra 
dition  ;  it  had  meant  nothing  to  her.  Now  she 
understood  it  all,  and  the  terrible  knowledge  had 
chilled  her  life-blood.  Could  she  ever  again  think 
of  anything  but  that  dead  face  ?  One  stronger 
than  the  King  of  Terrors  was  driving  it  from  her 
thoughts  :  love  was  swiftly  painting  out  the  grim 
picture  from  her  memory. 

Step  by  step  they  went  over  the  ground  of 
16 


242  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

their  mutual  experiences  since  the  time  when 
they  had  parted  :  the  picnic,  and  its  tragic  end 
ing  ;  the  night  which  Graham  had  passed  in  the 
cabin  with  Ah  Lam's  murderer, — for  there  could 
be  no  doubt  it  was  he  who  had  dropped  Milli- 
cent's  handkerchief  in  the  hut.  Of  the  little  jour 
nal  Graham  spoke  sadly,  gently,  without  anger, 
as  if  it  were  a  thing  which  concerned  neither  of 
them.  Then  Millicent  brokenly  told  the  story 
which  the  written  words  had  simply  indicated. 
She  told  it  with  a  sense  of  thankfulness  that  the 
weight  of  the  secret  rested  no  longer  on  her 
heart  alone  ;  that  its  pain  was  shared,  and  that 
at  last  her  lover  understood  and  saw  her  abso 
lutely  as  she  was.  No  reservation  did  she  make, 
but  bared  to  him  the  inmost  chambers  of  her 
heart,  sure  of  no  misunderstanding,  and  upheld 
by  a  sympathy  she  had  never  before  known. 
Then  her  confidence  was  returned,  and  Graham 
spoke  to  her  of  many  things  of  which  he  had 
never  spoken  before  ;  of  the  hopes  and  aspira 
tions  which  had  sometimes  made  his  life  glori 
ous  ;  of  the  quicksands  and  hidden  rocks  which 
had  often  made  his  way  dangerous. 

A  wonderful  confession,  —  solemn  as  those 
first  confessions  made  by  men  and  women  who 
at  maturity  join  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  and 
unflinchingly  reveal  to  the  confessor  every  temp 
tation  to  which  they  have  yielded  in  the  course 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  243 

of  their  lives.  To  no  mumbling,  inattentive 
priest,  with  store  of  penances  and  absolutions 
in  his  pocket,  was  the  confession  made ;  in  no 
stifling  confessional,  with  throng  of  penitents 
outside,  grudging  every  moment  of  delay.  Each 
spoke  to  a  tender  human  heart,  that  filled  out 
the  broken  sentences,  and  echoed  the  deep  sighs. 
The  roof  of  their  temple  swayed  in  the  light 
breeze,  and  the  wild  birds  chanted  the  hymn 
of  praise  which  consecrated  it. 

As  Millicent  at  last  sat  silent,  not  knowing 
whether  her  lover  still  spoke  to  her  in  words, 
or  if  that  finer  language  of  the  spirit  made  his 
thoughts  clear  to  her,  came  at  once  a  strange 
consciousness  that  she  was  no  longer  a  creature 
of  this  earth,  with  material  senses  and  shape. 
The  last  words  which  she  had  spoken  she  re 
membered  as  one  dimly  recalls  what  has  hap 
pened  in  another  life.  They  were  these  :  — 

"  Are  you  sorry  for  me  ?  " 

There  had  been  no  answer  in  words  or  in 
looks  ;  for  the  power  of  sight  had  been  left  be 
hind  with  the  outer  case,  now  shaken  off  for  the 
first  time  since  life  upon  the  earth  had  begun. 
She  was  a  thing  apart  no  longer ;  her  existence 
had  become  merged  in  that  of  a  stronger  soul, 
to  which  she  was  an  all-important  part.  Folded 
in  this  spirit-embrace  time  was  not,  nor  past  nor 
future ;  nothing  but  the  perfect  ecstasy  of  a 


244  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

union  which  eternity  should  consecrate.  Float 
ing  on  a  celestial  ether,  the  double  soul  mounted 
ever  higher  and  higher.  Was  it  toward  eternal 
bliss  that  it  was  wafted  ?  Was  the  long  waiting 
at  an  end  ? 

Again  she  saw  the  sunlight ;  again  she  heard 
the  ripple  of  the  water ;  again  she  felt  the  earthly 
tenement  closing  about  the  divine  spirit.  Before 
her,  framed  in  the  green  leaves,  was  a  face  dear 
indeed,  the  face  of  her  lover.  With  solemn  eyes 
they  looked  at  each  other  ;  and  a  broken  voice 
whispered  to  her,  — 

"  Dear,  what  is  it  ? " 

She  answered  softly,  — 

"  I  have  never  been  so  near  to  you  before." 

Then  a  flood  of  feeling  swept  over  her,  and 
she  would  have  knelt  to  him,  her  other  self ;  but 
he  was  already  at  her  feet,  moved  by  that  same 
instinct  to  do  homage  to  the  human  form  which 
held  his  counter  soul,  and  on  her  white  feet  he 
laid  a  reverent  embrace. 

Strengthened  and  uplifted  by  that  mystic 
union  whose  memory  should  never  leave  her, 
whose  bonds  should  ever  bind  her,  was  Millicent. 
In  every  existence  comes  one  supreme,  all-im 
portant  moment,  which  thenceforth  is  the  land 
mark  by  which  life  is  measured  ;  the  climacteric 
point  to  which  the  past  merely  served  to  lead,  the 
future  availing  only  to  enshrine  its  memory.  To 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  24$ 

some  men  and  women  the  significance  of  that 
moment  is  known  only  when  it  has  long  passed  ; 
to  Millicent,  the  knowledge  that  her  whole  after 
life  should  be  controlled  by  that  hour  was  not 
wanting.  And  her  lover,  —  would  he  be  faithful 
to  that  unspoken  vow?  The  thought  never 
crossed  her  mind  ;  she  was  irrevocably  bound  to 
him  ;  priest  and  rite  could  but  make  a  poor, 
earthy  contract  between  what  was  mortal  in 
them  both  :  the  spiritual  union  was  not  for  this 
world,  and  might  not  be  broken  by  either. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

"Dust  and  ashes,   dead  and  done  with,   Venice  spent  what 

Venice  earned. 
The  soul,    doubtless,    is   immortal  —  where    a    soul    can    be 

discerned." 

IT  was  a  pitiful  story  which  the  little  journal  had 
made  known  to  John  Graham,  —  the  story  of  a 
woman  grievously  wronged,  cruelly  deceived. 

Millicent  Almsford's  life  had  not  been  a 
happy  one.  Her  childhood  had  been  lonely, 
and  she  had  none  of  those  early  recollections 
which  are  so  comforting  in  after  years  to  people 
more  fortunately  bred.  Her  father  -was  an 
invalid  and  a  bookworm,  and  looked  upon  his 
only  daughter  as  a  creature  to  be  fed,  clothed, 
educated,  and  kept  quiet.  Her  feeding  he  in 
trusted  to  her  faithful  nurse,  who  had  promised 
her  dying  mother  never  to  leave  the  child  till 
she  should  be  grown  to  womanhood.  Her  ward 
robe  was  ordered  by  a  relative  who  lived  in  Paris, 
and  who  twice  a  year  overlooked  the  making  and 
packing  of  her  clothes,  from  her  first  baby  wrap 
pings  to  the  ball  dress  in  which  she  was  pre 
sented  at  the  court  of  St.  James.  Her  education 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  247 

he  left  very  much  to  chance  and  her  own  taste, 
simply  locking  up  the  livres  defendus  of  his 
library,  and  telling  her  English  governess  to  order 
any  necessary  volumes  from  Mudie's.  The  young 
woman  in  whose  charge  Millicent  was  placed, 
was  more  eager  to  learn  Italian  than  to  teach 
English  ;  to  explore  the  literature  of  Dante  than 
to  familiarize  her  pupil  with  the  British  authors. 
When  Millicent  was  sixteen  years  old,  the  feeble 
protection  of  this  governess  was  taken  from  her  ; 
the  woman  returning  to  England  to  keep  a  long 
protracted  marriage  engagement  with  her  own 
cousin.  The  same  year  old  Nina  died ;  and 
then  it  was  that  the  lonely  girl  fell  under  the 
influence  which  was  to  darken  her  destiny  and 
turn  aside  the  natural  current  of  her  life.  Milli 
cent  Almsford,  at  that  age,  was  .a  very  peculiar 
and  interesting  study.  Her  mind  had  eagerly 
grasped  much  more  material  than  it  could  mas 
ter.  Her  vivid  imagination  and  great  talent  for 
music  were,  with  a  love  of  beauty,  the  most 
strongly  developed  traits  in  her  nature,  whose 
intellectual  growth  was  destined  to  be  slow  and 
late ;  whose  spiritual  existence  had  not  yet 
begun.  An  exquisite  native  refinement  and  a 
perfect  taste  were  among  her  most  interesting 
qualities.  Singularly  attractive  and  strangely 
incomplete,  she  had  formed  few  relations  ;  and 
her  friendship  with  Edward  Holworthy,  the  man 


248  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

whose  influence  so  marred  her  life,  was  the  first 
strong  feeling  which  she  had  known.  He  was 
her  opposite  in  character,  and  knew  life  only 
through  people,  while  she  had  lived  purely  in 
ideas.  Her  complex  nature,  unfathomable  to 
herself,  was  to  him  a  novel  and  engrossing  study, 
and  it  was  through  him  that  she  learned  to  un 
derstand  one  side  of  it.  The  man  found  a  great 
heart  which  had  never  loved  ;  a  strong  power  for 
working  good  or  evil  ;  a  bold  mind,  that  feared 
not  to  grapple  with  the  deepest  problems  of  life  ; 
and  a  possibility  of  absolute  devotion  to  a  reso 
lution  once  formed,  which  is  rarely  found  among 
young  women.  He  became  her  mental  guide, 
and  directed  her  readings  ;  with  a  certain  clever 
intuition  bringing  her  under  the  influence  of 
minds  as  sophistical  and  frivolous  as  his  own. 
Sympathetic  to  an  extreme  degree,  her  nature 
quickly  took  from  his  the  color  of  an  exagger 
ated  cynicism,  which  was  sometimes  strongly 
shaken  by  the  inner  spirit  which  still  slept 
under  the  untouched  heart.  Platonics,  where 
the  man  is  of  the  world  wise,  and  the  woman 
foolish  with  the  innocence  of  childhood,  are 
dangerous  things,  as  he  knew  full  well,  and  she 
did  not.  In  pointing  out  the  forces  which  mould 
the  lives  of  men  and  women,  what  theme  is  so 
often  upon  the  lips  of  two  life  students  of  oppo 
site  sexes  as  that  of  love  ?  To  the  girl  it  seemed 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  249 

a  strange,  rather  interesting  force,  whose  power 
it  would  not  be  unpleasant  to  test;  and  when 
one  day  her  mentor  confessed  to  her  that  she 
had  bound  him  irrevocably  by  those  bonds  which 
he  had  taught  her  were  but  ropes  of  sand,  she 
smiled  half  sadly,  but  in  her  heart  laughed  with 
childish  merriment  She  now  should  see  the 
actual  workings  of  that  strange  hallucination  ; 
she  should  learn  something  of  what  love  was. 
She  was  as  unfeeling  as  a  young  lioness,  and 
learned  the  lesson  of  making  him  turn  pale  and 
red  by  turns,  as  quickly  as  she  had  learned  the 
knack  of  touching  the  chords  of  her  mandolin. 
She  looked  upon  her  quondam  friend  in  the  light 
of  an  invalid,  suffering  from  a  dangerous  but  non- 
contagious  malady.  And  so  things  went  on  ; 
the  man  gaining  every  day  a  firmer  hold  over 
the  girl,  intoxicated  by  the  new  power  in  herself 
and  a  growing  consciousness  of  her  beauty  and 
charms.  During  the  long  mornings  at  the  Pa 
lazzo  Fortunio,  the  two  friends  read  and  talked 
together,  while  the  Italian  governess,  understand 
ing  no  word  of  their  intercourse,  sat  sewing 
patiently  beside  them.  In  the  cool  afternoons, 
when  they  were  rowed  by  the  strong-armed 
gondolier,  Girolomo,  out  into  the  glory  of  the 
sunset,  the  same  stolid  companion  always  accom 
panied  them.  One  day,  Mr.  Almsford,  selfish 
old  epicurean,  perceived  for  the  first  time  that 


250  SAN  ROSA  RIO   RANCH. 

his  daughter  had  grown  to  a  tall  and  fair  woman 
hood.  His  attention  had,  perhaps,  been  first 
called  to  the  fact  by  the  increasing  size  of  the 
half-yearly  coffer  which  found  its  way  from  Fash 
ion's  capital  to  the  Fortunio  Palace,  and  by  the 
proportionate  lengthening  of  the  account  which 
accompanied  it.  Yes,  Millicent  was  certainly 
grown  to  be  a  young  lady.  They  were  begin 
ning  to  send  her  little,  demure  bonnets,  and 
close-fitting,  simple  woollen  dresses,  made  with 
more  of  an  idea  of  displaying  her  graceful  figure 
than  heretofore.  The  girl  was  heiress  to  her 
mother's  fortune  ;  and  it  behooved  him  to  see 
about  finding  a  suitable  husband  for  her.  Whom 
should  he  consult  in  this  matter,  but  their  most 
intimate  friend  ;  the  man  who  seemed  at  once 
his  contemporary  and  hers  ;  the  handsome,  clever 
fellow-countryman,  who  had  been  on  the  most 
intimate  footing  in  his  house  for  the  last  ten 
years  ?  Edward  Holworthy  had  started  unac 
countably  when,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  solemn 
pauses  of  their  game  of  chess,  Mr.  Almsford  had 
propounded  the  unexpected  question  to  him  :  — 
"How  shall  I  find  Millicent  a  husband  ?" 
The  elder  gentleman,  for  the  first  time  in 
many  months,  checkmated  his  adversary  in  two 
moves,  and  won  the  game  in  an  unprecedentedly 
short  space  of  time. 

Holworthy's  advice  was  given  after  a  week's 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  251 

deliberation.  It  was  in  favor  of  sending  Miss 
Almsford  to  her  father's  sister,  who  lived  in 
London,  in  order  that  she  might  be  presented 
at  court  and  introduced  to  English  society.  Mr. 
Almsford  thought  over  the  advice,  which  ap 
peared  to  him  wise.  He  consulted  Millicent, 
who  eagerly  accepted  the  chance  to  see  some 
thing  of  the  world  ;  and  finally,  after  six  months' 
exchange  of  letters  upon  the  subject,  the  girl 
was  taken  to  London  by  her  father,  and  com 
fortably  established,  with  her  aunt,  in  a  pretty 
Kensington  villa,  for  which  her  poorly  circum 
stanced  relative  gladly  forsook  a  small  house  in 
an  unfashionable  quarter  of  the  town.  Having- 
married  a  younger  son  of  a  great  house,  with 
no  portion  but  debts  on  his  part  and  beauty  on 
hers,  Millicent' s  aunt,  with  the  matchless  tact  of 
our  countrywomen,  had  secured  herself  a  promi 
nent  and  agreeable  position  in  London  society. 
In  mere  worldly  advantages  the  young  girl  could 
have  had  no  better  chaperone  than  the  pretty 
young  woman,  still  occupied  with  bets,  beaux, 
and  bon-bons.  She  took  her  niece  to  all  the 
best  houses;  and  soon  Millicent's  extreme  beauty, 
and  the  widely  noised,  somewhat  exag-gerated  ac 
counts  of  her  worldly  goods,  brought  her  scores 
of  invitations  and  admirers  on  her  own  account. 
Six  months  after  her  departure,  Millicent  Alms- 
ford  returned  to  the  Palazzo  Fortunio,  where  the 


252  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

report  of  her  great  social  success  had  preceded 
her  and  tickled  the  ears  of  her  parent,  proud  of 
the  child  for  whose  sake  he  had  never  sacrificed 
a  whim  of  his  own.  Edward  Holworthy,  who 
had  accompanied  the  father  and  daughter  to 
London,  and  remained  there  during  the  period 
of  the  latter's  stay,  did  not  return  to  Venice,  but 
sailed  for  Australia,  from  whence  he  never  re 
turned  either  to  his  native  or  to  his  adopted  coun 
try.  The  change  which  her  half  year's  absence 
had  wrought  in  Millicent,  her  father  attributed 
to  her  social  experience.  She  had  left  him  half  a 
child,  with  a  thousand  absurd,  whimsical  ways, 
which  had  amused  him,  and  endeared  her  to  him 
more  than  any  other  trait  in  her  character.  Few 
things  diverted  him  ;  and  he  counted  every  laugh 
which  Millicent  provoked  from  him  as  a  positive 
good,  which  he  set  down  to  her  credit  in  their 
joint  account.  Her  stay  in  London  had  given 
Millicent  a  certain  poise  and  manner  which 
suited  her  marvellously  well ;  but  all  the  sparkle 
and  freshness  seemed  to  have  left  her.  She  was 
like  a  fresh,  white  lily  which  has  been  broken  and 
wilted  by  a  violent  storm  of  wind  and  rain.  For 
months  she  never  smiled.  Her  life  seemed  to 
have  come  to  a  standstill ;  she  suffered  dumbly, 
hopelessly,  with  sad,  deep  eyes,  made  more  beau 
tiful  by  the  trouble  in  them.  A  sceptic  and  a 
materialist,  she  found  nothing  in  this  world 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  253 

worth  suffering  for,  and  smiled  incredulously 
when  the  old  cure,  her  Latin  teacher,  tried  to 
help  her  from  the  slough  of  earthly  despair  by 
promises  of  a  glorious  future,  for  whose  attain 
ment  the  life-battle  should  be  bravely  fought. 
She  was  conscious  of  no  ethereal  essence  which 
should  outlive  the  graceful  body,  whose  beauty 
she  sometimes  cursed.  Did  it  not  reduce  her 
to  the  level  of  all  hunted  creatures  ?  Was  she 
not  a  thing  to  be  pursued  by  men,  like  a  tall 
deer  or  a  fleet,  timid  hare  ? 

"  Something  had  come  to  the  Signorina,"  said 
Girolomo,  the  gondolier  ;  "  and  the  Signer  Hoi- 
worthy,  where  was  he  ?  "  And  he  shook  his  head 
gravely,  the  wise  old  creature,  guessing,  as  did  no 
other  soul,  that  Edward  Holworthy  was  in  some 
way  connected  with  Millicent's  changed  face  and 
listless  demeanor. 

Something  had  come  to  her  ;  but  she  never  con 
fided  to  priest  or  friend  the  trouble  which  robbed 
her  young  face  of  its  childish  curves,  which 
killed  the  youth  in  her,  and  made  her  a  woman 
in  grief,  while  she  was  still  a  child  in  years. 
Only  one  confidant  had  she,  —  the  little  jour 
nal  ;  the  gold-clasped  tome  which  all  those  years 
after  had  fallen  into  John  Graham's  hands.  The 
story  of  the  first  passion  she  had  ever  roused, 
read  by  the  only  man  she  had  ever  loved. 

It  was  the  pitiful  story  of  a  grievous  wrong 


254  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

which  had  darkened  more  than  one  life.  The  mis 
erable  consequences  of  a  wicked  act  are  infinite  ; 
its  influence  spreads  wider  and  wider  every 
day,  like  the  broadening  rings  which  circle  on 
the  surface  of  a  still  pool  disturbed  by  a  stone 
which  a  careless  hand  has  tossed.  The  black 
deed  may  be  hidden  from  the  sight  of  men,  but 
its  baleful  effects  are  felt  afar  off  in  the  lives  of 
those  who  have  known  nought  of  its  perpetration. 
Let  not  the  sinner  comfort  himself  in  that  his 
soul  alone  is  damned  for  his  crime.  It  darkens 
innocent  lives  with  its  evil  ;  and  in  sinning 
against  himself  he  sins  against  mankind. 

In  the  strange  country  whither  Millicent  had 
gone,  Holworthy  was  the  only  link  which  bound 
her  to  her  home,  the  one  being  who  understood 
and  cared  for  her.  The  dominion  which  he 
had  always  held  over  her  was  now  strength 
ened  into  a  powerful  magnetic  force.  The  little 
journal  told  how  that  influence  had  been  ex 
erted  in  compelling  her  to  a  secret  marriage 
against  her  own  will  and  judgment.  She  had 
been  tricked  into  an  elopement,  —  it  might  bet 
ter  be  called  an  abduction,  —  and  all  unwillingly 
became  his  wife.  Then  all  too  soon,  ere  a  week 
had  passed,  came  the  terrible  discovery  that  the 
marriage  was  no  marriage.  For  then  came  to 
her  the  mother  of  the  man  whom  she  was  striv 
ing  to  love  with  wifely  duty,  an  old  woman, 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  2$$ 

bowed  with  grief  and  years.  She  had  come  very 
far,  across  half  a  continent,  to  break  to  the  girl 
whose  name  she  had  heard  linked  with  that  of 
her  only  son,  the  news  that  he  was  not  free  to 
marry,  that  she  must  give  him  up.  When  the 
tall  girl  with  the  childish,  flower  face  fell  stricken 
to  the  earth  like  a  broken  lily,  at  the  feet  of  the 
older  woman,  she  had  made  no  cry  ;  in  the  hours 
that  followed,  she  said  no  word.  When  the  man 
who  had  wrecked  her  life  came  and  knelt  beside 
her,  prayed  her  to  be  patient  and  her  wrongs 
should  be  righted,  spoke  of  his  remorse,  told 
her  of  his  terrible  mad  wife  from  whom  the  law 
would  set  him  free,  and  make  him  really  hersv 
prayed,  besought,  and  worshipped  at  her  feet, 
she  answered  him  with  one  terrible  word  only. 
She  rose  and  stood  before  him  white  and  cruel 
in  her  agony,  relentless  as  Fate. 

"  Go  !  "  was  the  one  syllable  which  her  frozen 
lips  uttered ;  and  with  a  gesture  of  command, 
majestic  and  beautiful,  she  had  banished  him 
from  her  presence.  The  secret  was  kept,  even 
from  the  old  woman,  grown  more  sorrowful  at  the 
sight  of  the  girl's  dumb  agony  and  of  her  son's 
grief,  which  she  could  not  soothe.  The  secret 
was  kept ;  and  that  very  night  Millicent's  face, 
pale  and  clouded,  shone  out  amidst  a  group  of 
fair  women  who  sat  languidly  chatting  through 
the  music  of  Faust  at  the  opera.  He  kept  her 


256  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

secret,  poor  wretch,  and  shielded  her  as  best  he 
might,  forcing  her  to  speak  to  him  and  see 
him  before  others,  that  no  sudden  breaking  of 
their  relations  might  be  remarked.  Save  in  the 
world,  she  never  saw  him  again.  That  one 
word  of  command  was  the  last  syllable  which  he 
ever  heard  her  speak  to  him  directly.  Not  with 
out  a  struggle  did  he  give  her  up,  but  she  was 
implacable.  She  yielded  to  him,  and  played 
her  part  in  the  little  comedy  which  the  world 
thought  it  understood.  The  beautiful  Miss 
Almsford  had  found  Holworthy  a  pleasant  ad 
mirer,  but  her  delicate  American  beauty  and 
her  solid  American  fortune  would  certainly  win 
her  a  higher  place  in  the  world  than  that  of  the 
wife  of  Mr.  Edward  Holworthy,  her  countryman 
and  old  friend. 

Youth  and  health  are  great  physicians  ;  and  as 
the  years  passed,  Millicent  recovered  something 
of  her  old  spring  and  elasticity.  She  was  in 
finitely  more  interesting,  if  something  colder  and 
harder,  than  she  had  been  in  the  old  days.  Her 
unquenchable  vigor  of  temperament  came  to  her 
help,  and  gave  her  a  keen  pleasure  in  her  studies 
and  in  the  work  and  thought  of  the  people  about 
her.  Always  self-reliant,  she  grew  to  live  en 
tirely  without  support  from  man  or  woman.  She 
was  a  friend  to  many  people,  but  was  herself 
friendless.  The  Palazzo  Fortunio,  under  her 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

reign,  grew  to  be  the  centre  of  a  charming  social 
circle.  Musicians  and  painters  were  made  wel 
come  by  the  young  hostess.  At  once  an  artist 
and  a  patron  of  the  arts,  she  stood  in  a  peculiar 
relation  to  the  men  who  frequented  her  salon. 
If  she  had  been  without  fortune  she  would  have 
made  music  her  profession.  As  it  was,  she 
studied  it  as  faithfully  as  if  self-support  had 
been  her  aim  ;  and  she  claimed  that  sympathy 
from  her  artistic  friends  which  a  mere  con 
noisseur,  be  he  ever  so  enthusiastic,  can  never 
arouse.  To  her  small  world  she  was  all-impor 
tant.  Her  sympathy  helped  many  a  timid  debu 
tante,  and  her  counsel  cheered  the  black  days 
of  more  than  one  disheartened  artist.  Always 
gracious  and  kind,  she  had  drawn  about  her 
a  group  of  people,  to  all  of  whom  she  was  a 
sort  of  exalted  fellow-worker,  who  knew  but  the 
poetry  of  art,  and  helped  them  to  forget  its 
prose.  Her  heart  was  quite  empty,  but  her 
mind  was  keenly  interested  and  fully  occupied 
by  the  men  and  women  among  whom  she  lived. 
Happiness  she  had  forgotten  to  look  for,  but  in 
enjoyment  her  days  were  not  wanting.  It  was  a 
terrible  blow  to  her  when  this  pleasant,  quiet  life 
was  suddenly  broken  up  by  her  father's  marriage. 
To  her  imperious  nature  the  presence  of  the  in 
ferior  woman  whom  Mr.  Almsford  had  brought 
home  to  the  Palazzo  was  intolerable.  Where 
17 


258  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

could  she  go  ?  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
felt  the  power  which  her  fortune  gave  her.  She 
could  establish  herself  wherever  she  liked.  Her 
father's  sister  proposed  a  repetition  of  their  joint 
establishment  in  London,  but  at  the  very  men 
tion  of  her  returning  to  England  Millicent's 
face  blanched.  She  would  never  again  set  foot 
in  that  country.  It  was  while  she  was  in  a  state 
of  doubt  concerning  her  future  movements  that 
her  half-brother  wrote  her  a  long  and  affection 
ate  letter,  urging  her  to  come  and  dwell  for  a 
time  among  his  people,  to  visit  her  mother's 
country  before  she  decided  the  important  ques 
tion  of  where  she  should  establish  herself  for 
life.  The  idea  seemed  a  just  one  to  her;  and 
acting  on  a  tender  impulse  roused  by  the  loving 
words  of  her  unknown  brother,  she  had  tele 
graphed  her  departure,  and  forthwith  started  on 
her  long  journey  accompanied  by  her  capable 
French  maid.  The  Abigail  discharged  her  trust 
faithfully,  as  far  as  San  Francisco,  from  which 
city  she  turned  her  face  on  the  very  day  of  her 
arrival,  unwilling  to  remain  longer  in  what  she 
called  "  le  phis  triste  pays  du  monde"  If  the 
truth  could  have  been  known,  Millicent  would 
have  signed  away  ten  years  of  her  life  to  have 
gone  back  with  the  woman  to  the  Old  World, 
the  only  home  she  had  ever  known. 

Graham  had  not  been  mistaken  when  he  pre- 


SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH.  259 

dieted  to  Millicent  that  she  would  grow  more  in 
sympathy  with  the  4race  from  which  she  drew 
her  inheritance  of  character  and  temperament 
than  at  first  seemed  possible.  Nature  is  stronger 
than  habit,  well  called  second  nature ;  and  as  the 
surface  roughness  became  familiar  to  her,  she 
began  to  feel  the  strong  life  ana  vigor  of  the 
young  Western  land  quickening  her  pulses  and 
stimulating  her  whole  being.  The  poverty  of 
intellectual  intercourse  was  more  than  compen 
sated  by  the  tremendous  power  of  work,  the 
electrical  force  which  accomplishes  so  rapidly  in 
this  new  land  what  in  other  countries  has  been 
the  slow  growth  of  centuries. 

An  answering  glow  of  enthusiasm  flushed  her 
with  hope,  with  a  keener,  fuller,  more  intense 
life  than  she  had  ever  known  before.  She  had 
clung  at  first  to  her  traditions,  and  fought 
against  the  tide  which  seemed  to  be  sweeping 
this  people  on  and  on  and  ever  on.  But  nature 
was  too  strong  for  habit ;  her  upright,  fearless 
mind  acknowledged  kinship  with  these  hard 
working  men  and  women,  to  whom  pleasure  is 
not  save  in  toil,  whose  whole  life  is  one  long 
unconscious  sacrifice  to  their  country.  On  the 
eastern  margins  of  our  land  the  austere  simplicity 
and  purity  have  become  infested  with  plague- 
spots  brought  —  ay,  imported  with  care  and  ex 
pense —  from  the  Old  World,  and  fostered  like 


260  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

exotics  on  the  clean  soil.  But  from  the  great 
Western  prairie  comes  a  fresh,  strong  breeze 
which  sweetens  all  the  foulness  of  the  Atlantic 
cities,  and  makes  the  breath  of  Columbia  still 
pure  and  fragrant. 

With  this  new  sentiment  for  her  new-found 
country  came  the  first  passionate  love  to  the 
heart  of  the  beautiful  and  unhappy  young  woman. 
She  had  breathed  the  spicy  air  of  the  Californian 
forests,  bracing  and  sweet,  and  her  cheek  had 
grown  fuller  and  fairer  in  the  perfect  climate. 
Her  empty,  hollow  heart  was  filled  by  a  great 
love  and  strength,  all-sustaining  and  soothing. 

When  Graham  had  first  seen  her  lying  in  the 
fire-light,  with  cool,  deep  eyes,  before  the  light 
of  love  had  dawned  in  her  flower  face,  she  had 
seemed  to  him  like  a  perfect  white  rose.  Then 
the  rose  flushed  palely,  as  the  love-light  trem 
bled  to  a  flame;  and  he  brought  her  flowers 
of  the  color  of  the  sea-shells,  arid  she  wore 
them  in  her  hair.  Last  of  all,  he  laid  at  her 
feet  deep-red  damask  rosebuds  ;  and  these  she 
placed  on  her  white  breast,  where  they  bloomed 
and  died  in  a  single  night.  He  had  painted 
her  by  the  waves,  as  he  had  once  seen  her 
on  that  strange  day  when  death  had  seemed 
so  near  and  life  so  beautiful.  He  had  painted 
her  standing  at  the  sea  edge  with  pallid  roses  in 
her  little  hands,  her  graceful  head  set  about  with 


SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH.  261 

the  same  soft-hued  flowers,  and  a  single  crimson 
rose  lying  lightly  over  her  heart.  He  had  hung 
the  sketch  against  the  wall  where  the  sunlight 
fell  upon  it  early  in  the  morning  ;  and  Millicent 
had  bade  him  remember,  while  he  slept  or  waked, 
that  she  was  near  him. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  It  cannot  be  that  love  so  deep  as  mine 
Could  fail  to  stay  you  like  ethereal  wine." 

WHEN  he  first  understood  the  full  import  of  the 
dreadful  story,  John  Graham  had  been  dazed 
with  grief.  He  had  sought  distraction  from  his 
torturing  thoughts  in  action,  and  had  spent  that 
first  day  in  wandering  through  the  forest.  When 
he  lay  down  to  sleep  that  night  in  the  lodge,  his 
heart  was  burdened  with  the  double  weight  of 
Millicent's  secret  and  Millicent's  deceit.  He 
said  to  himself  that  they  had  put  an  insuperable 
bar  between  her  and  himself.  He  could  have 
pardoned  the  disgrace  which  had  befallen  her, 
and  was  not  her  fault,  but  he  could  never  forgive 
her  deceit  toward  him.  The  finding  of  her  ker 
chief  the  next  morning,  and  the  terrible  appre 
hension  which  the  blood-stain  had  aroused  in 
him,  swept  away  the  anger  and  sorrow  from  his 
heart,  leaving  nothing  there  but  an  agonizing 
fear.  This  had  been,  in  turn,  banished  by  the 
joy  of  finding  her  alive  and  unharmed,  waiting 
for  him  amidst  the  roses.  The  great  fear  had 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  263 

softened  the  anger  in  his  heart ;  the  sudden  hap 
piness  exalted  his  soul  from  the  hell  of  anguish 
in  which  it  had  dwelt,  into  a  perfect  and  pure 
peace.  Pride,  anger,  and  resentment  were  swept 
away,  and  love  swayed  him  with  its  mastery. 
He  knew  her  now,  faulty  as  she  was  ;  and  his 
higher  nature  forgave  her,  because  of  her  great 
love,  because  of  her  great  wrong.  But  in  his 
stormy  breast  the  tide  of  feeling  flowed  and 
ebbed ;  pride  had  reigned  there  so  long  that 
love  could  not  all  at  once  claim  undisputed  sway. 
He  could  not  learn  in  an  instant  that  pride  is 
born  of  hell,  while  love  is  breathed  from  heaven. 
In  that  strange  moment  when  their  two  beings 
had  seemed  etherealized,  he  had  forgiven  her  all ; 
but  in  the  days  that  followed,  pride,  doubt,  and 
prejudice  came  forward  one  by  one  to  do  combat 
with  victorious  love.  It  might  be  that  they  would 
conquer  in  the  struggle  ;  it  might  even  be  that 
pride,  being  selfish,  should  make  him  doubt  and 
finally  even  forget  love,  which  is  unselfish.  But 
he  had  pardoned  her,  and  loved  her  with  all  her 
sins  ;  he  had  acknowledged  that  bond  of  spirit 
which  made  them  one  ;  he  had  knelt  before  her 
and  kissed  her  feet  in  a  passionless  embrace  full 
of  reverence.  No  matter  what  griefs  should  fall 
upon  her,  no  matter  what  deed  or  word  of  his 
might  put  them  apart  in  this  world,  she  should 
carry  through  her  life,  and  beyond  it,  the  knowl- 


264  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

edge  that  what  was  highest  in  him  had  leapt  to 
meet  her  love,  and  acknowledged  that  they  be 
longed  each  to  other  for  eternity. 

John  Graham  awoke  one  morning  to  find  him 
self  possessed  of  a  picture.  He  had  seen  it  be 
tween  waking  and  sleeping,  in  the  early  hours  of 
the  night,  and  it  had  haunted  his  dreams  till 
sunrise.  He  heard  the  wondrous  carolling  of 
the  birds  just  before  dawn,  with  a  joy  greater 
than  was  his  wont,  for  it  heralded  the  day  which 
should  bring  light  for  his  work.  French  John, 
coming  in  with  his  breakfast,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  entered  and  left  the  tower  without 
word  or  look  of  greeting  from  the  artist,  who, 
with  bent  brow  and  serious  face,  was  sketching 
in  the  first  lines  of  his  picture  with  a  bit  of 
white  chalk.  The  half-finished  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Patrick  Shallop  looked  at  him  with  one  reproach 
ful  eye  from  the  easel ;  but  Graham  paid  no 
heed  to  the  neglected  portrait ;  he  was  deeply 
engrossed  in  pursuing  his  thought  and  preserv 
ing  it  in  a  tangible  shape.  It  is  a  rare  thing, 
in  this  age  of  the  worship  of  the  golden  calf,  for 
the  artist  even  to  be  absorbed  in  the  love  of  his 
profession.  Of  old,  it  seems  that  the  sages  and 
the  sculptors  wrought  and  thought  for  the  sake 
of  art  and  learning,  the  spur  of  ambition  being 
all  that  was  necessary  to  urge  them  forward. 
To-day  the  goal  toward  which  such  men  strive 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  265 

is  a  golden  one,  and  the  worship  of  money  is 
more  in  vogue  than  the  pursuit  of  glory. 

When  artists  sell  their  souls,  brains,  and  tal 
ents  to  dealers,  engaging  to  deliver  so  many 
works  of  art  in  so  many  months,  on  such  and 
such  a  class  of  subjects,  bargaining  by  the  whole 
sale  for  the  work  which  they  shall  produce  dur 
ing  the  coming  twelve-month,  what  wonder  that 
the  cry  of  the  connoisseur  is,  Too  much  tech 
nique,  too  little  sentiment !  "  What  is  senti 
ment  ? "  one  would  ask  such  a  babbler  ;  is  it  a 
thing  to  be  measured  off  by  the  yard,  or  sold  in 
canvases  to  suit  traders,  who  feel  the  pulse  of  the 
public,  and  if  it  is  feverish  give  more  stimulant, 
or  if  it  is  fainting  prescribe  an  anodyne  ?  To  such 
prostitution  do  these  men  strive  to  degrade  the 
arts,  but  in  vain.  Apollo's  voice  is  still  stronger 
than  the  chink  of  doubloons ;  and  there  are  those 
whose  ears  are  ever  strained  to  catch  his  mystic 
music.  The  art  trade,  the  literary  trade,  may 
flourish  luxuriantly,  growing  like  weeds,  with  a 
rank  prodigality  ;  but  the  flowers  of  art  and  liter 
ature,  for  all  that,  stand  serenely  strong  in  the 
garden  of  our  fair  young  world,  growing  day  by 
day  in  beauty  and  strength.  Their  blossoming 
may  be  rare  in  this  day  and  generation,  but  the 
plants  are  sound  and  full  of  a  mighty  sap. 

Though  John  Graham  was  a  man  of  the  world, 
there  was  no  taint  of  worldliness  about  him  ; 


266  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

he  knew  the  world,  because  he  had  lived  some 
what  in  it,  but  more,  perhaps,  because  he  had 
studied  the  lives  of  the  world's  people.  The 
painting  of  a  picture  was  to  him  of  more  im 
portance  than  its  sale  ;  the  conception  of  a  work 
more  than  its  accomplishment.  His  enthusiasm 
was  apt  to  wane  as  his  picture  neared  com 
pletion.  The  great  glow  with  which  the  idea 
came  to  him  kept  him  warm  and  interested 
through  all  the  stages  of  the  crystallization  of 
his  thought ;  but  when  the  work  was  finished  he 
ceased  to  prize  it,  and  either  threw  himself  into 
a  new  composition,  or  patiently  labored  at  unin 
teresting  mechanical  work  until  he  was  again 
inspired.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  could  be 
induced  to  sell  his  pictures  ;  he  would  sometimes 
keep  them  before  him  for  years,  waiting  to  alter 
some  detail  or  to  remedy  some  defect.  His 
friends,  knowing  his  reluctance  to  part  with 
them,  were  wont  to  wait  till  they  knew  the  artist 
to  be  in  absolute  need  of  funds,  and  then  quietly 
to  walk  away  with  the  coveted  picture,  forcing 
him  to  accept  its  price.  A  few  people  only  in 
California  understood  or  cared  for  his  landscapes, 
or  the  rare  works  of  imagination  which  he  pro 
duced  ;  and  it  was  through  his  portraits  that  he 
was  chiefly  known.  He  felt  in  himself  an  unfit- 
ness  for  this  line  of  work  ;  and  had  it  not  been 
for  the  sake  of  his  beloved  mother,  partially 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  267 

dependent  on  him,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would 
ever  have  followed  it.  The  reason  was  not  far 
to  seek  why.  Graham  did  not  succeed  in  that  im 
portant  branch  of  art :  the  individual  had  little 
interest  for  him  ;  men  and  women  absorbed 
him  less  than  nature.  Every  tree  and  brooklet, 
dead  forest  leaf  or  purpled  thunder-cloud,  held 
for  him  a  lesson.  Men  and  women  seen  from 
a  distance  were  more  likely  to  interest  him  than 
those  with  whom  he  was  thrown  in  close  contact. 
When  their  lives  and  actions  were  viewed  in 
an  impersonal  perspective,  he  understood  them 
better,  and  often  theorized  about  them.  His 
thoughts  were  oftener  occupied  with  people  of 
whom  he  knew  little  than  with  his  friends  and 
intimates.  To  seek  truth  first  and  beauty  second, 
was  his  creed  ;  but  his  life  was  not  always  guided 
by  that  high  rule  ;  and  the  jack-o'-lantern  beauty 
sometimes  tempted  him  from  the  pursuit  of  truth, 
leading  him  on  long  rambles  over  smiling  meads 
and  into  flower-hedged  swamp  lands.  There 
would  he  lie  undone,  angry  and  smarting  from 
the  thorns  through  which  beauty  had  led  him  ; 
and  then,  turning  his  back  upon  her,  would 
trudge  earnestly  along  the  road  which  leads  truth- 
ward.  Millicent  had  once  whispered  to  him  that 
he  mistook  two  loving  sisters  for  dread  rivals, 
and  that  truth  and  beauty,  when  truly  seen,  are 
found  together  ;  whereat  Graham  had  looked  full 


268  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

into  her  eyes,  long  and  steadily,  and  kissing  her 
hand,  with  a  sigh,  had  spoken  of  other  things. 

Lying  beside  him  on  the  floor,  as  he  worked 
upon  his  newly  imagined  picture,  was  a  painting 
nearly  finished,  on  which  he  had  been  working 
the  previous  day.  A  wooden  panel,  on  which 
was  represented  the  ever-new  subject,  fairest  of 
themes  to  artist  and  poet,  —  two  lovers,  stand 
ing  together  in  the  rosy  dawn  of  love,  ere  the 
scorching  sun  of  passion  has  deepened  their  cool 
morning  into  a  fervid  midday.  The  man's  figure 
was  strong  and  graceful,  his  attitude  one  of  pro 
tection  ;  the  girl's  rounded  and  delicate  body 
swayed  toward  her  lover,  whose  arm  enfolded 
her.  His  face  was  turned  away,  the  eyes  look 
ing  far,  as  if  into  the  future ;  while  her  delicate 
features  were  turned  toward  him,  her  glance 
trustfully  fastened  on  his  face.  The  color  of 
the  warm  woodland  background  was  mellow  and 
rich,  bringing  out  the  deeper  tones  of  the  figures. 
The  resemblance  of  the  girl  to  Millicent  Alms- 
ford  could  hardly  have  been  unintentional,  one 
who  knew  her  well  would  have  said ;  and  yet 
Graham  was  only  half-conscious  that  the  face 
and  figure  recalled  her  chief  traits.  He  had 
thought  of  her  as  he  worked  ;  and  beneath  his 
brush  her  bronze  hair  and  luminous  face  had 
been  shadowed  out  more  distinctly  every  day. 
A  rare  picture,  full  of  beauty  and  sentiment; 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  269 

but  thrown  aside  to-day  for  the  new  inspiration 
which  had  seized  upon  the  artist.  The  subject 
to  be  treated  was  the  entrance  of  the  Poet  to 
the  abode  of  the  Muses.  He  sketched  the  Poet, 
mounted  on  his  winged  horse,  just  crossing  the 
narrow  defile  which  led  to  the  sacred  spot. 
With  knit  brows  and  earnest  face,  Graham 
worked  at  the  sketch  all  day  ;  only  leaving  his 
tower  when  the  daylight  failed  him.  As  he 
wandered  through  the  dim  forest  aisles,  he 
thought  of  Millicent  for  the  first  time,  remem 
bering  that  he  had  agreed  to  ride  with  her  in 
the  afternoon  at  three  o'clock ;  it  was  now  past 
six.  Without  the  slightest  feeling  of  remorse 
at  his  failure  to  keep  the  engagement,  he  deter 
mined  to  ride  over  to  the  house  and  see  her. 
Millicent  received  him  rather  coolly,  having  spent 
the  afternoon  crying  with  worry  and  disappoint 
ment  at  his  non-appearance  ;  and  he,  only  half 
noticing  her  mood,  failed  to  understand  it.  He 
was  dimly  aware  that  her  society  was  not  as 
agreeable  as  usual,  and  consequently  he  devoted 
himself  to  Mrs.  Deering  during  the  evening. 
At  first  Miss  Almsford  kept  aloof  from  the 
conversation ;  but  later,  when  her  lover  began  to 
talk  brilliantly,  she  drew  near  to  where  he  sat 
and  listened  to  his  words  with  downcast  eyes. 
Graham  was  in  wonderful  vein  that  night ;  his 
every  gesture  spoke  of  a  strong  under-current 


2/0  SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH. 

of  excitement.  His  eyes  shone,  and  his  deep 
voice  had  a  thrill  of  enthusiasm  which  stirred 
the  pulses  of  the  calm-browed  girl,  sitting 
near  by  with  softly  folded  hands  and  parted, 
breathless  lips.  But  it  was  neither  for  Milli- 
cent,  nor  because  of  Millicent,  that  the  young 
man  talked  so  brilliantly.  A  more  stimulating 
influence  than  hers  had  touched  him,  and  he 
was  beyond  the  reach  of  her  sympathy  ;  exalted 
by  the  wings  of  his  genius  to  that  clear,  cool, 
lonely  communion  with  the  immortals  which  only 
such  as  he  experience.  Dismayed,  and  yet  full 
of  reverence  for  this  new  phase  of  his  nature, 
Millicent  was  filled  with  a  great  pain.  She  was 
left  behind  ;  she  could  follow  but  not  accom 
pany  the  flight  of  his  fancy ;  and  a  sense  of 
lonely  desolation  chilled  the  hot  heart-blood  with 
a  depression  the  like  of  which  she  had  never 
before  known.  The  ethereal  quality  of  her  being 
recognized  and  did  honor  to  his  bold  up-wing 
ing  ;  but  the  personal,  selfish  side  rebelled  at  the 
neglect  to  which  she  was  subjected.  The  strug 
gle  in  her  breast  was  at  that  time  unintelligible 
to  herself ;  in  after  days,  when  the  baser  nature 
had  been  overcome,  she  realized  it  all,  and  knew 
that  the  long  death-struggle  of  self  began  that 
night  when  Graham's  eyes  looked  beyond  her 
for  inspiration,  up  to  the  blue-starred  empyrean 
over  both  their  heads. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  2/1 

More  from  habit  than  because  he  needed  her 
society,  her  lover  asked  her  to  step  for  a  moment 
upon  the  piazza  before  he  left.  As  they  stood 
side  by  side,  he  absently  took  her  firm,  small 
hand  in  his  and  kissed  the  pink  fingers  one  by 
one,  as  if  she  had  been  a  child.  All  at  once  he 
perceived  that  she  was  weeping,  her  slender  form 
shaken  by  a  storm  of  sobs. 

"  Millicent,  my  child,  what  is  it?  Are  you 
ill?"  he  asked,  tenderly  stroking  her  hair. 

"  No,  only  unhappy.  Graham,  why  did  you 
not  come  for  me  to-day  ?  I  waited  for  you  all 
the  afternoon." 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,  dear,  that  I  was  very 
busy?  I  have  begun  a  new  picture.  I  quite 
forgot  my  engagement  with  you,  —  I  am  very 
sorry,"  he  answered,  puzzled  at  her  emotion. 

"  Then  it  is  your  picture  that  is  my  rival  I 
hate  it,  I  hate  it !  I  never  want  to  see  it ! 

"  Millicent,  what  do  you  mean  ? " 

Her  only  answer  was  to  lay  her  aching  head 
upon  his  breast,  to  twine  her  arms  about  him, 
and  to  sob  out  incoherent  words  of  love  and 
grief,  all  of  which  puzzled  and  wearied  him. 
He  soothed  her  tenderly  ;  and  when  they  parted 
there  was  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  though  her 
breast  still  trembled  with  the  slow  after-waves 
of  a  grief  which  shook  her  whole  being.  Graham, 
unnerved  by  the  tempest  which  he  had  all  unwit- 


272  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

tingly  aroused,  reached  his  tower  in  an  excited 
and  irritable  frame  of  mind.  The  first  thing  that 
met  his  eyes  was  the  picture  of  the  lovers  lying 
at  the  foot  of  the  easel.  He  picked  it  up,  placed 
it  on  the  table  before  him,  and  long  and  criti 
cally  surveyed  his  work. 

"  I  painted  better  than  I  knew,"  he  sighed. 
"Yes,  thus  it  is  that  we  stand  toward  each  other, 
man  and  woman,  and  ever  shall  stand,  —  the 
man  looking  out  beyond,  above,  the  woman,  and 
she  finding  her  utmost  limit  of  self-projection  in 
him.  Alas  and  alas  !  "  He  placed  the  painting 
with  its  face  toward  the  wall,  and  with  a  moody 
brow  turned  to  his  new  sketch. 

"  Bah,  I  can  do  nothing,  see  nothing  in  that 
picture ;  I  have  been  too  rudely  summoned  back 
to  earth,  to  the  little  griefs  of  humanity,  by  a 
woman's  tears.  I  was  never  meant  for  it,  I  can 
not  bear  it."  So  ran  his  thoughts  impatiently. 
He  had  been  living  in  the  passionless  perfec 
tion  of  art,  and  had  been  suddenly  recalled  by 
a  little  creature,  full  of  small  human  feelings, 
to  this  narrow  world.  Nettled  and  unstrung, 
he  threw  himself  upon  his  hard  bed,  to  dream 
of  Millicent,  —  a  happy  dream,  in  which  she 
knelt  before  him,  acknowledging  her  fault, 
pleading  his  forgiveness  ;  a  dream  of  sweet  rec 
onciliation,  wherein  was  memory  of  that  hour 
among  the  redwoods,  of  that  mystic  soul-embrace 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  273 

but  once  known  to  him  his  whole  life  through. 
He  awoke  refreshed  and  strengthened,  with  a 
love-song  on  his  lips  tender  as  that  of  the  mourn 
ing  dove.  Sundown  showed  him  again  at  his 
easel  after  a  long  day's  work  ;  but  that  evening 
Millicent  listened  in  vain  for  the  patter  of  Tasso's 
hoofs  among  the  softly  rustling  autumn  leaves. 

In  the  week  which  followed  Graham  did  not 
venture  to  see  Millicent  again,  fearing  her  dis 
turbing  influence  on  his  work.  He  sent  her 
every  day  by  his  faithful  henchman  some  little 
memento.  One  morning  it  was  a  quick  sketch 
of  the  sunset  of  the  previous  night.  Another 
day  it  was  a  bunch  of  pretty  brown  quails,  the 
result  of  an  hour's  shooting.  Once  she  found 
hung  upon  her  window-ledge  a  garland  of  dewy 
red  roses  ;  and  easily  guessed  what  strong,  light 
figure  had  swung  itself  up  the  piazza  post,  and 
over  the  trellis-work,  to  lay  this  offering  before 
her  curtained  window. 

Henry  Deering,  passing  by  the  piazza  on  the 
night  the  lovers  had  parted,  heard  the  sound  of 
weeping.  In  the  days  that  followed,  he  noticed 
Millicent's  reddened  eyes  and  restless  mood. 
He  felt  sure  that  some  misunderstanding  had 
arisen  between  them ;  and  as  the  days  passed, 
and  Graham  failed  to  appear,  he  began  to  be 
lieve  that  the  breach  was  a  serious  one.  In  the 
old  days  he  had  loved  Graham  as  a  brother  ;  but 
18 


274  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

in  the  last  months  his  affection  had  grown  cold, 
and  held  a  weak  place  in  his  heart,  from  whence 
jealousy  was  fast  banishing  it.  Now  that  he 
believed  his  old  friend  to  have  grieved  the 
woman  they  both  loved,  a  feeling  of  antipathy 
and  an  undefined  distrust  possessed  him. 

After  the  long  day's  work  it  was  his  custom 
to  sit  for  an  hour  or  so  upon  the  piazza  beneath 
Millicent's  window,  watching  the  beam  of  light 
which  shone  through  her  closed  blinds  until  it 
was  extinguished.  One  night,  as  he  sat  alone, 
the  drowsy  humming  of  the  insects  soothed  him 
into  a  light  sleep.  When  he  awoke  with  a  start. 
the  moon,  which  had  not  before  been  visible, 
was  high  in  the  heavens.  As  he  was  about  to 
go  in-doors  he  heard  a  footstep  on  the  path  out 
side  the  house.  He  remained  motionless  in  his 
chair,  resolved  to  see  who  was  abroad  so  late. 
The  footsteps  were  uncertain  and  stealthy. 
The  person  first  approached  the  house,  and 
then  retreated  to  the  turf,  where  the  steps 
were  hardly  audible.  Deering  stepped  lightly 
to  the  edge  of  the  piazza  and  peered  through  the 
honeysuckle  screen.  At  a  distance  of  twenty 
feet  from  him  stood  a  man  looking  up  at  the 
house,  at  Millicent's  window.  His  face  was 
hidden  by  a  mufrler  and  a  broad  hat  pulled  low 
over  the  brows.  Deering  drew  his  revolver  and 
cocked  it.  The  click  of  the  lock  evidently 


SAN  ROSARIO   EANCH.  275 

reached  the  intruder's  ears,  for  he  turned  and 
fled  toward  the  orchard.  Deering  sprang  from 
the  piazza,  and  shouting,  "  Who  are  you  ? 
Stop,  or  I  '11  fire  !  "  ran  down  the  path.  The 
fugitive  neither  answered  nor  slackened  his 
pace.  Deering  fired,  aiming  low  down  ;  but  the 
ball  whistled  by  the  man  and  buried  itself  in  the 
heart  of  a  peach-tree.  In  the  close  shrubbery 
which  surrounded  the  orchard  Deering  missed  his 
man;  and  three  minutes  later  he  heard  the  swift 
tramp  of  a  pair  of  horses  on  the  path  which  led  to 
the  high-road.  He  ran  to  the  stable.  Nothing 
there  but  the  mules  and  old  Sphinx;  his  own 
fleet  mare  and  Millicent's  thorough-bred  were 
grazing  in  the  pasture.  He  slipped  a  bridle 
over  the  old  mustang's  head,  and  sprang  on  his 
back  without  waiting  for  a  saddle.  By  the  time 
he  reached  the  highway  the  riders  were  out  of 
sight,  and  the  echo  of  the  distant  hoof-beats 
reached  his  ears.  Pursuit  was  useless ;  they 
were  well  mounted  ;  and  Sphinx  had  gone  dead 
lame  the  day  before.  The  young  man  listened 
to  the  faint  sound  of  the  hoofs  until  it  died  in 
the  silent  night.  Then  he  dismounted  and  ex 
amined  the  road.  There  were  the  traces  of  two 
horses.  As  he  looked  closely  at  the  impressions 
left  on  the  thick  dust,  he  saw  that  only  one  of 
the  horses  had  carried  a  rider  ;  the  other  had 
been  led. 


276  SAN  ROSARIO  EANCH. 

When  he  returned  to  the  house  he  found  the 
family  aroused.  Barbara  met  him  on  the  piazza, 
asking  anxiously  what  had  happened.  The  re 
port  of  the  revolver  had  awakened  her. 

"  It  was  a  bear,  Barbara,"  said  her  brother. 
"  It  is  a  shame  to  have  roused  you  all,  and  for 
nothing,  too.  I  thought  I  had  a  sure  shot,  and 
that  we  should  have  bear-steak  for  dinner  to 
morrow." 

"  A  bear,  Hal  ?  How  strange  !  Why,  this  is 
the  first  time  one  ever  came  so  near  the  house, 
is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  No ;  Ralph  killed  two  long  ago,  before  you 
can  remember.  Go  to  bed  now,  and  get  the 
house  quiet,  for  heaven's  sake!" 

The  young  man  kept  his  own  counsel,  and  the 
next  morning  made  a  careful  examination  of 
the  grounds  near  the  house.  On  the  farther 
side  of  the  orchard  there  were  traces  of  a  pair 
of  horses  having  been  tethered. 

Two  more  days  went  by,  and  still  Graham 
did  not  come.  Millicent  was  distressed  and 
puzzled  at  his  long  absence  ;  and  finally,  after 
thoughtful  deliberation,  she  decided  to  write  to 
him,  telling  him  how  grieved  she  was  at  her 
own  unreasonable  behavior. 

Graham  found  a  letter  early  one  morning 
folded  in  an  embroidered  kerchief,  and  laid 
before  the  door  of  his  tower.  That  heavy  un- 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  277 

painted  barrier  could  have  told  a  tale  like  that 
of  Tennyson's  talking  oak,  had  it  been  given  the 
power  of  speech.  Trembling  lips  had  pressed 
timid  kisses  upon  its  weather-beaten  panels. 
Strange  old  door  of  the  tower,  roughly  fash 
ioned  by  the  Mission  priests  a  century  ago,  what 
secrets  have  you  not  shut  in ;  what  hopes  have 
you  not  seen  pass  out  between  your  time-rusted 
lintels ! 

It  was  the  first  letter  Millicent  had  ever 
written  him  ;  he  had  but  once  before  seen  her 
handwriting.  The  girlish,  weak  hand  which 
had  traced  the  words  in  the  little  journal  was 
greatly  altered.  It  was  now  a  graceful,  flowing 
chirography,  full  of  that  individuality  which 
stamped  everything  appertaining  to  her.  Gra 
ham  studied  the  superscription  carefully  be 
fore  he  broke  the  golden  seal,  with  its  device 
of  Psyche  with  new-found  wings.  It  ran  as 
follows :  — 

BELOVED,  —  Forgive  me  !  forgive  me  if  you  will,  for 
I  cannot  forgive  myself.  I  was  wrong  to  grudge  you 
the  time  passed  with  your  work.  It  was  weak  and 
selfish  of  me  ;  but  now  that  I  know  my  fault,  be  not 
afraid.  Believe  that  I  am  strong  enough  to  overcome 
it.  For  the  red  roses  at  my  window  I  thank  you  ; 
and  for  the  fair  picture  and  the  graceful  couplet,  for 
all  the  tender  thoughts  which  prompted  you  to  send 
me  these  tokens,  bless  you  a  hundred  times.  But 
oh !  my  lover,  come  to  me  ;  and  let  me  read  in  your 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

strange  eyes,  that  are  now  bright  and  cold  as  ocean 
deeps,  and  again  burning  with  Promethean  fire,  that 
I  am  forgiven.  Not  rose  nor  picture,  not  poem  nor 
sweet  garland,  can  tell  me  as  can  they  that  you 

10VG    ^  MILLICENT. 

Graham  read  the  letter  through  twice,  and 
folded  it  away,  with  a  sigh.  "  Do  I  love  her  ? 
Does  she  love  me?"  he  queried ;  and  all  that  day 
the  doubt  tormented  him.  While  he  worked, 
while  he  took  his  afternoon  ramble  through  the 
woods,  while  he  sat  at  his  solitary  supper,  it 
rankled  in  his  mind.  He  could  not  solve  it ; 
could  she  ?  It  were  best  at  least  to  ask  her. 
It  was  only  right  that  she  should  know  of  his 
doubts  of  her  and  of  himself.  He  found  her 
flushed  with  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  him.  She 
had  anticipated  his  coming,  and  was  dressed  in 
soft  colors  which  he  approved,  and  fair  with 
a  hundred  little  efforts  of  coquetry  to  please 
him.  Her  bronze  hair  seemed  to  the  man  but 
a  mesh  to  snare  him.  He  turned  his  eyes  im 
patiently  from  the  pretty,  bare  arms,  and  the 
cool,  snowy  shoulders  shining  through  trans 
parent  draperies.  His  judgment  should  not  be 
turned  aside  by  her  loveliness.  He  greeted  her 
coolly,  barely  touching  her  outstretched  hand  ; 
and  then  stood  looking  gloomily  into  the  dis 
tance,  not  knowing  what  to  say,  uncertain  of 
the  truth,  doubting  her.  The  woman,  quick  to 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  279 

see  his  trouble,  spoke  to  him  tenderly,  with  a 
low,  soothing  voice,  thanking  him  for  coming 
to  her,  telling  him  how  long  the  time  had 
seemed  since  they  had  met. 

"  And  tell  me  all  about  your  new  picture." 

"  I  cannot,  Millicent ;  your  letter  spoiled  my 
day's  work.  I  have  done  nothing  since  I  read 
it." 

"  Dear,  what  can  you  mean  ?  " 

"  This,  Millicent,  —  that  my  work  must  always 
be  first  to  me.  I  had  thought  that  you  would 
help  me  in  it,  but  it  is  not  so."  After  a  pause, 
"  Millicent,  I  think  we  have  made  a  mistake,  you 
and  I.  We  cannot  help  each  other,  and  there 
fore  we  hinder  one  another.  You  dazzle  me 
with  your  beauty,  and  send  me  back  to  my  work 
unfitted  for  it ;  while  I  only  make  you  unhappy, 
and  fear  I  can  never  do  anything  else." 

"  Graham,  you  kill  me."  She  looked  indeed 
as  if  a  blow  had  been  planted  in  her  breast,  as 
she  reeled,  all  white  and  trembling,  to  a  seat. 
Her  words  seemed  to  deepen  the  nervous  agi 
tation  which  possessed  him,  for  he  said  im 
patiently,  — 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  It  is  not  my  fault  that 
you  have  neither  the  best  love  to  give  me,  nor 
the  power  to  arouse  it  in  me.  I  tell  you,  child, 
that  we  have  been  mistaken,  and  that  it  is  time 
for  this  thing  to  end." 


280  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  No,  no,  Graham  ;  you  are  angry,  you  know 
not  what  you  say.  In  mercy  speak  no  more." 
She  had  sunk  upon  her  knees,  her  clasped 
hands  stretched  toward  him  in  an  agony  of 
fear. 

"  Do  not  kneel  to  me,  but  listen  ;  for  I  am 
right.  If  things  had  been  different,  it  might 
have  been  ;  but  as  they  are,  we  have  been  mad 
to  think  of  it.  There  is  no  help  for  it,  my  girl  ; 
we  must  kiss  and  part.  You  never  loved  me 
as  you  should,  Millicent,  because  you  could 
not.  A  woman  can  love  but  once,  and  that  is 
the  first  time." 

"  It  is  not  true.  You,  who  are  a  man,  say  it. 
What  woman  ever  said  it  ?  It  is  a  lie,  a  lie  ! 
You  shall  not  say  it,  you  must  not  think  it. 
You  would  make  us  creatures  without  souls 
indeed.  Are  they  right,  then,  the  Easterns  ? 
If  when  we  women  are  sold,  or  stolen,  or  en 
trapped,  we  must  love,  and  only  then,  you  deny 
us  other  life  than  that  of  the  earth.  Of  what 
man  would  you  hold  this  doctrine  to  be  true  ? 
It  is  utterly  false  !  it  is  wicked  !  it  is  unworthy 
of  you !  "  She  moaned  where  she  had  fallen  on 
the  ground,  and  tried  to  speak  again  ;  but  the 
man  continued  with  a  pitiless  stream  of  words, 
sincere,  earnest,  spoken  for  her  good  as  well  as 
his  own. 

"We  have  been  loitering  together  for  a  time, 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  281 

child,  on  life's  way,  and  have  chased  the  golden 
butterfly  of  pleasure  which  men  oft  mistake  for 
love.  Before  we  are  too  deeply  entangled  in  the 
briers,  we  must  turn  from  the  chase,  we  must 
forget  each  other.  We  can  be  of  no  good,  one 
to  the  other ;  and  I  will  be  no  more  harm  to 
you  than  I  have  been." 

He  could  not  see  her  face  now  ;  it  was  hidden 
on  her  arm  as  she  crouched  where  his  words 
had  thrown  her.  The  pathos  of  the  attitude 
touched  him  ;  he  gently  lifted  one  of  the  tightly 
clinched  hands,  and  loosened  the  fingers  which 
so  fiercely  bit  the  delicate  palm.  He  was  in  a 
strange  mood,  when  heart  and  soul  seemed  ab 
sent  from  him,  and  only  the  clear,  strong  brain 
prompted  his  words.  Her  passionate  grief  hard 
ened  rather  than  softened  the  look  in  his  eyes. 
This  girl,  who  had  been  as  wax  in  his  fingers,  — 
glad  when  he  smiled,  weeping  when  he  sighed, 
swayed  invariably  by  the  mood  which  possessed 
him,  —  now  denied  by  piteous  word  and  gesture 
the  words  which  he  was  speaking.  Her  hand, 
unlocked  by  him,  would  have  clasped  his  stronger 
palm  ;  but  at  the  caress  he  dropped  her  arm  and 
turned  his  eyes  from  her. 

"  I  cannot  give  you  up,"  she  murmured  ;  "  you 
must  not  leave  me  so.  Oh,  my  love,  you  wrong 
me,  you  wrong  yourself!  I  love  you,  Graham, 
with  all  my  soul  ;  I  love  you  as  I  never  thought 


282  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

to  love  before!  Cruel  —  cruel!  It  is  not  with 
lips  and  eyes  that  I  have  loved  you,  for  you 
could  lose  that,  and  yet  miss  nothing  from  your 
life.  Turn  not  from  me,  if  you  would  not  leave 
that  which  is  best  worth  having  by  the  roadside, 
and  press  on  to  find  that  goal  towards  which 
your  ambition  spurs  you,  empty  and  void  without 
me  at  your  side !  It  is  your  worse  nature  which 
doubts  mine.  Graham,  Graham  !  what  matters 
it  if  hand  and  eyes  have  been  another's?  My 
soul  is  only  yours,  wakened  first  when  your 
strong  spirit  called  it  from  the  sleep  -  begun 
before  it  was  vested  in  this  body,  ere  it  was 
divided  from  your  own." 

The  last  words,  faintly  whispered,  hardly 
reached  his  ears.  To-day  their  import  could 
not  have  been  felt  by  him.  In  other  times  he 
understood,  and  sufferingly  admitted  the  truth 
of  those  incoherent  words,  which  died  on  the  air 
as  soon  as  they  were  breathed,  and  yet  whose 
memory  abode  with  him  his  life  through.  He 
had  come  to  Millicent  not  knowing  what  he 
should  say,  and  the  words  seemed  to  have  spoken 
themselves.  He  was  sorry,  as  is  the  surgeon  for 
the  pain  which  he  inflicts  ;  but,  like  the  physi 
cian,  he  felt  that  mercy  lay  in  mercilessness.  As 
she  lay  weeping  at  his  feet,  a  strong  tide  of  emo 
tion  swept  over  him,  leaving  him  pale  and  trem 
bling.  He  lifted  her  with  eager  hands,  and  on 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  283 

shoulder,  brow,  and  pallid  mouth  he  pressed 
cruel,  parting  kisses,  which  carried  no  balm  to 
her  broken  heart,  and  brought  no  ease  to  his 
fevered  spirit.  Then  he  broke  from  her  with  a 
mighty  effort,  passion  and  pride  wasting  him 
with  a  terrible  warring,  and  fleeing  through  the 
night  left  her  there  cold  and  nerveless,  like  a 
broken  lily  amidst  the  dews  and  damps. 

In  the  days  which  followed,  Barbara  watched 
with  tender  solicitude  Millicent's  changed  face 
and  nerveless  step.  Only  through  her  sympa 
thetic  perceptions  did  she  know  of  the  girl's 
trouble ;  of  what  nature  it  was  she  surmised,  not 
incorrectly.  Lovers'  quarrels  are  usually  looked 
upon  with  a  tolerant  amusement  by  intimate 
friends  and  relatives  ;  and  when  they  are  of  short 
duration,  it  is  usually  considered  advisable  to  ig 
nore  them  altogether.  But  as  weeks  passed,  and 
Barbara  learned  that  Graham  was  in  San  Fran 
cisco,  she  redoubled  her  little  attentions,  and 
shielded  Millicent  as  best  she  could  from  her 
mother's  anxious  questions. 

Angry  and  rebellious  was  Millicent  in  these 
days,  with  that  terrible  under-feeling  of  anguish 
which  must  outlive  anger  and  rebellion  ;  that 
fainting  of  the  soul,  when  all  that  has  supported 
it  seems  to  have  sunk  away,  and  it  is  left  abso 
lutely  without  power  to  resist  an  all-devouring 
despair.  Her  happiness  had  been  so  short-lived  ; 


284  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

her  misery  was  so  terrible,  so  unending!  Her 
young  life,  which  had  been  balked  of  its  natural 
joyousness  and  youth,  had  suddenly  been  illu 
mined  with  the  pure  and  perfect  light  of  the 
love  which  passeth  all  understanding,  and  now 
she  was  in  darkness  blacker  than  she  had  ever 
known.  The  anguish  of  that  great  love  was  not 
wanting,  and  she  suffered  with  a  new  sense  of 
her  capacity  for  pain.  In  her  dumb  grief  she 
knew  that  the  agony  was  not  undeserved  ;  this 
was  the  bitterest  drop  in  the  cup  of  tears.  She 
had  not  told  him  her  sad  secret;  she  had  de 
ceived  him !  She  had  meant  to  tell  him  of 
the  blot  upon  her  name,  before  their  lives  had 
become  irrevocably  joined  ;  but  she  had  put  off 
the  dreaded  moment  until  it  was  too  late:  he 
knew  all  now,  and  not  by  her  confession.  Would 
she  ever  have  had  the  courage  to  tell  him  ?  She 
almost  doubted  herself.  Was  she  deceitful  by 
nature  ?  she  asked  herself  a  hundred  times,  ques 
tioning  her  deep  eyes  in  the  mirror's  depth.  No, 
she  knew  that  her  frank,  sincere  character  had 
been  warped  and  distorted  by  the  evil  influence 
of  the  man  whose  name  she  would  have  cursed, 
had  not  the  grave  closed  over  him,  burying  his 
sins  and  her  reproaches  in  the  cold  earth.  Poor 
child,  poor  women  all,  the  weaker  creatures  in 
this  remorseless  world  !  When  they  are  bruised 
and  broken  by  the  force  of  their  masters,  is 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  285 

it  strange,  is  it  unpardonable,  that  the  weapon 
of  the  weak  tempts  them?  Who  forged  that 
weapon  for  them,  who  forced  them  to  use  it?  If 
there  were  no  unjust  oppression  among  men,  no 
brutal  abuse  of  a  superior  force,  would  women 
be  driven  to  deceit,  that  refuge  of  the  weak  ? 

In  this  sophistry  she  wrapped  herself,  but  was 
not  satisfied.  She  had  been  tried  and  found 
wanting.  This  it  was  that  had  lost  to  her  the 
lover  for  whom  she  had  faced  death.  He  might 
not  know  it ;  he  had  never  said  it ;  but  she  recog 
nized  what  had  driven  him  from  her  side,  —  the 
fault  was  hers.  Was  it  unpardonable  ?  Could  he 
never  forgive  her  ?  Must  their  lives  be  sepa 
rated,  now  that  spirit  had  kissed  soul  ?  Must 
the  long  waiting  last  until  time  should  be  ended 
for  them  both,  and  Eternity  begun  ? 

Of  all  cruel  gifts,  is  not  that  which  lingered  in 
Pandora's  box  the  one  through  which  men  surfer 
most  fiercely  ?  O  Hope  !  if  thou  hadst  escaped 
along  with  the  rest  of  the  heathen  god's  bless 
ings,  how  many  tortured  souls  would  now  be  at 
rest  in  a  fixed  and  accepted  grief  which  struggles 
not,  neither  rebels  at  the  decrees  of  destiny  ! 
Unquenchable  art  thou,  robbing  sad  mortals  of 
all  repose  ;  even  in  death  shall  they  not  find 
rest  ;  thou  troublest  the  dying  with  thy  visions 
of  a  future !  With  resolute  hands  sorrowing 
women  seize  upon  thee,  and  would  stifle  thee 


286  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

in  their  breasts  ;  but  though  thou  dost  some 
times  simulate  death,  when  the  watchful  hands 
loosen  their  hold  thou  springest  up  stronger  and 
more  cruel  than  before,  and  tormentest  the  suf 
ferer  with  thy  struggles ! 

"  If  it  would  only  die  —  if  it  would  only  die  !" 
moaned  Millicent,  as  she  paced  her  room,  her 
hands  crossed  heavily  upon  her  breast,  as  if  to 
stifle  some  tangible  spark  with  their  weight.  A 
thousand  times  she  submitted  to  the  rest  of  a 
despair  which  was  all  too  quickly  routed  by  the 
fever  of  a  hope  which  could  not  die. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  If  we  should  part  and  pass  to  separate  ways 
With  stifled  sigh,  averted  head, 

Within  a  land  where  centuries  are  as  days 
Our  love  shall  live  though  flesh  and  wrong  lie  dead." 

AND  her  lover,  where  was  he?  In  the  heart  of 
the  city,  working  in  a  garret  on  his  great  pic 
ture,  for  the  sake  of  which  he  had  forsaken  the 
woman  he  loved.  Intolerant  of  opposition  was 
Graham ;  and  when  once  an  idea  had  been  ac 
cepted  by  him,  it  was  next  to  an  impossibility 
for  him  to  give  it  up.  He  had  become  con 
vinced  that  his  love  for  Millicent  would  make 
him  faithless  to  his  work ;  that  the  love  of  wo 
man  was  not  compatible  with  the  highest  devo 
tion  to  art.  Her  fond  dependence  on  him  would 
drain  his  strength.  Without  his  work  he  could 
neither  be  satisfied  nor  satisfy  her.  The  closer 
she  clung  to  him  the  more  did  he  recoil  from 
her.  In  the  strength  of  his  genius,  he  laughed 
at  the  idea  that  a  loving  companionship  was 
necessary  to  him  ;  and  yet  hours  came,  at  the 
end  of  a  long  day's  work,  in  the  quiet  watches 
of  the  night  when  the  city  slept  about  him,  in 


288  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

which  all  his  theories  were  overset,  in  a  terrible 
longing  for  the  girl  whose  sad  eyes  haunted  him. 
To  see  her  and  to  touch  her  ;  to  hear  her  low, 
deep  voice  ;  to  forget  all  the  grievous  striving 
of  his  life,  in  the  restful  warmth  of  hers  !  He 
thought  of  her  always  as  he  had  first  seen  her, 
lying  before-the  fire,  her  slender  figure  robed  in 
white,  her  head  supported  in  the  hands  which 
he  had  so  often  caressed.  Waiting  for  him,  she 
seemed  to  have  been  then.  Waiting  for  him, 
he  loved  to  fancy  her  always.  These  tender 
thoughts  drifted  through  his  mind  in  the  soft 
twilight,  or  before  the  dawn.  In  the  fervid  day 
light  he  only  remembered  her  as  she  had  been 
on  that  lasj:  evening,  rebellious  and  close-cling 
ing,  desperate,  beautiful,  and  full  of  unrest. 

The  city  tired  him  with  its  everlasting  sounds 
of  traffic.  The  tread  of  dray  horses  and  the 
rumbling  of  carts  sounded  in  his  ears  from  ear 
liest  dawn  till  late  night.  There  was  no  peace 
here  amongst  his  fellow-men.  He  longed  for 
the  solitude  of  his  tower,  for  his  forest  neigh 
bors,  for  the  sound  of  the  woods,  the  wide  arch 
of  blue  sky,  seen  now  through  one  narrow  slit 
between  the  opposing  houses. 

One  morning  he  determined  to  take  a  day  of 
rest ;  and,  after  making  a  light  breakfast  at  a 
coffee-house  near  by,  he  started  for  the  San  Ro- 
sario  Ranch,  with  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  289 

carried  in  his  bosom  for  many  days.  It  was  a 
bright  morning ;  the  air  was  crisped  with  a  pre 
diction  of  winter  weather,  genial  enough  in  this 
region  at  its  worst.  As  he  passed  through  the 
familiar  country  he  traced  some  likeness  to  Mil- 
licent  Almsford  in  every  object  on  which  his 
eyes  lighted.  Now  it  was  the  golden-brown  of 
her  hair  seen  in  the  shiny  coat  of  a  sleek  filly 
frolicking  in  a  pasture ;  now  it  was  her  graceful 
movements  traced  in  the  trembling  branches  of 
a  straight  young  sapling ;  again,  her  gray  eyes 
smiled  in  his  face  from  under  the  brows  of  a  fair 
child  playing  by  the  roadside.  The  harsh  voice 
of  the  wheels  thundering  over  the  steel  rails 
seemed  to  be  repeating  her  name ;  and  his  heart 
kept  time  with  the  refrain,  beating  out  the  sylla 
bles  rhythmically,  —  Millicent,  Millicent,  Milli- 
cent!  He  was  weary  of  reasoning  with  himself. 
For  six  days  in  the  week  his  work  was  all-suffi 
cing,  and  he  needed  no  other  companionship ; 
but  on  the  seventh  day  he  longed  for  rest ;  he 
needed  beauty,  he  needed  love.  He  knew  that 
it  was  weak  in  him  to  waver  in  his  resolution 
not  to  see  Millicent  again;  he  knew  that  it  was 
a  wrong  to  her,  and  that  he  would  bitterly  re 
gret  it  in  after  days.  And  yet  he  yielded  to 
that  exquisite  golden  haze  which  seemed  to  have 
dropped  about  him,  flooding  his  life  with  a  pas 
sionate  delight,  an  ecstasy  of  expectation. 


290  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

He  alighted  at  the  station,  and  stood  watch 
ing  the  receding  train  with  strained  eyes.  He 
wished  now  that  he  had  not  come.  He  walked 
up  and  down  the  narrow  platform,  flushed  and 
unnerved  with  the  tumult  in  his  breast.  On 
his  right  lay  the  dusty  carriage-road  which  led 
to  the  house;  on  his  left  a  narrow  bridle-path 
pierced  the  woods,  over  which  he  must  pass  to 
reach  his  tower.  Which  should  it  be,  —  a  day 
passed  with  the  creatures  of  the  forest,  under 
the  blue  sky  and  murmuring  trees ;  or  an  hour 
of  the  soft  delight  which  Millicent's  voice,  Mil- 
licent's  eyes,  Millicent's  lightest  finger-touch, 
wrapped  about  him?  He  realized  now  how  he 
had  cheated  himself.  He  had  said  that  it  was 
the  wood-birds  whose  voices  wooed  him  from  the 
city !  He  knew  now  that  beneath  that  longing 
for  the  free  air  of  his  forest  home  lay  the  deeper 
desire  which  had  tempted  him  to  leave  his  pic 
ture  half  finished,  his  palette  half  set. 

Which  road  should  he  take?  Not  more  un 
stable  was  the  blue  ring  of  smoke  which  the 
breeze  carried  from  his  lips,  tossing  it  hither  and 
thither  in  a  cloudy  wreath  upon  the  white  air, 
than  was  this  man  between  the  opposing  in 
fluences  which  divided  his  nature.  At  last  he 
tossed  his  cigarette  upon  the  platform,  carefully 
quenching  its  spark  with  his  foot,  and  with  a 
light,  fleet  step  ran  down  the  wide  carriage-road 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  291 

which  led  to  the  house  — which  would  bring  him 
to  Millicent  He  had  known  all  along,  with  that 
inner  consciousness  which  decides  with  lightning 
rapidity  a  question  which  the  intellect  debates 
long  and  seriously,  that  his  feet  would  follow 
that  pleasant,  open  road  rather  than  the  dark 
wood-trail ;  and  yet  the  train  had  sped  twenty 
miles  further  on  its  journey  before  he  turned 
his  face  toward  the  happy  valley.  So  clumsy  is 
reason  compared  to  instinct ;  so  tedious  are  the 
modes  of  thought  to  the  working  of  the  feel 
ings  ;  so  useless  is  the  grave  gate  of  wisdom  to 
check  the  tumultuous  torrent  of  feeling. 

He  found  the  wide  piazza  deserted,  the  front 
door  fast  closed,  the  blinds  of  the  library  and 
dining-room  tightly  drawn.  The  hospitable 
house  was  silent  and  deserted.  His  impera 
tive  summons  was  finally  answered  by  a  domes 
tic,  the  successor  of  poor  Ah  Lam,  who  in  his 
ridiculous  vernacular  informed  the  visitor  that 
"  Alley  folk  go  waly."  Which,  being  translated 
into  English,  signified  that  no  one  was  at  home. 

Graham  felt  as  if  a  flood  of  cold  water  had 
been  dashed  into  his  face.  He  shivered,  as  he 
turned  from  the  door  and  descended  the  steps ; 
and  yet  before  he  had  walked  two  miles  in 
the  familiar  road  which  led  to  his  tower,  he 
gave  a  profound  sigh  of  relief.  It  was  better 
so  !  The  exercise  had  cooled  his  fevered  blood  ; 


292  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

the  crisp  forest  air  had  brought  reason  back 
to  his  passion-tossed  breast.  It  was  better 
that  he  had  not  seen  her.  Something  of 
the  fatalist  was  there  about  this  strong-brained 
rationalist.  He  half  fancied  that  it  was  not 
chance  alone  which  had  decreed  that  Millicent 
should  be  absent  from  the  Ranch  that  day. 
But  he  sang  no  more  as  he  had  done  on  his 
way  to  the  house;  and  his  serious  face  lost 
that  smile  of  hope  which  had  lighted  the  eyes 
and  touched  the  mouth  into  an  unaccustomed 
softness.  If  he  was  silent,  the  wild  birds 
were  melodious,  and  he  walked  between  choirs 
of  invisible  songsters ;  while  the  whirring  of 
a  partridge,  the  fleet  step  of  a  wild  fox  in  the 
thicket,  gave  him  the  assurance  that  he  was 
not  alone  in  the  mysterious  wood.  At  last  the 
distance  was  accomplished ;  and  at  high  noon, 
when  the  shadows  had  all  shrunk  back  into 
the  tall  trees  before  the  ardent  heat  of  the 
sun,  he  reached  the  ruin  of  the  old  church. 
He  leaned  against  the  fragment  of  a  pillar 
which  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  and 
looked  up  at  the  square  gray  tower  with  its 
close-clinging  pall  of  moss  and  yellow  lichens. 
From  a  rift  in  the  wall  burst  a  blaze  of  color, 
—  a  clump  of  wallflowers  stretching  its  flame 
of  blossoms  upward  toward  his  window.  He 
noticed  that  the  casement  was  open ;  and  as  he 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  293 

looked  he  saw  the  fluttering  of  a  bit  of  drapery 
over  the  edge  of  the  sill.  It  must  have  been 
the  curtain,  of  course ;  but  the  sight  of  it  gave 
him  a  strange  sensation,  not  unlike  one  that  he 
had  experienced  before  on  that  spot,  when  he 
had  been  tricked  by  the  moonlight  into  fancying 
that  there  was  a  woman  straying  in  the  aisles 
of  the  old  church.  He  remembered  that  night 
and  what  it  had  revealed  to  him ;  and  at  the 
black  thought  the  sky  seemed  to  have  darkened 
over  his  head.  He  had  stood  dreaming  at  the 
tower  foot  for  fifteen  minutes,  and  in  that  time 
the  sky  had  become  overcast,  a  cold  wind  had 
sprung  up  and  now  blew  into  his  face,  carrying 
a  host  of  big  drops  with  it.  The  rain  had  come 
at  last !  After  the  long  spring  and  summer  un- 
marred  by  clouded  skies  or  rude  gusts,  the  first 
rain  had  come.  With  a  rough  tenderness  it 
dashed  itself  against  the  parched  land  and  shook 
the  tall  trees  till  they  murmured  a  delighted 
welcome.  The  dusty  ferns  growing  low  down 
about  the  knees  of  the  great  trees  caught  the 
happy  news,  and  uncurled  their  tender  fernlings 
that  they  might  feel  the  welcome  touch  of  the 
rain-drops,  as  they  filtered  through  the  greedy 
leaves  and  raced  down  the  straight  stems  to 
reach  the  myriads  of  thirsty  mouths  yearning 
for  their  balm.  The  rain  had  come;  and  the 
languid  stream,  which  had  pined  and  shrunk  to 


2Q4  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

a  pitiful  thread  of  water,  leaped  joyously  down 
its  rocky  bed.  It  would  grow  strong  and  young 
and  beautiful  again;  its  banks  would  bloom 
with  flowers;  its  course  would  no  longer  run 
painfully  over  heated  stones,  between  seared 
brown  edges,  — the  rain  had  come  ! 

On  the  narrow  stairway  Graham  paused,  near 
the  top.  Something  shining  lay  on  the  step 
before  him.  The  object  proved  to  be  a  small 
silver  arrow,  tipped  with  a  feather  of  brilliants. 
He  picked  up  the  jewelled  toy,  which  he  had 
once  before  held  in  his  hand,  —  one  evening 
when  he  had  withdrawn  it  from  the  soft  tresses 
which  it  caught  together  behind  a  small  white 
ear.  His  hand  trembled  as  he  remembered  the 
soft  rushing  of  silken  curls  over  his  arm,  the 
fragrance  which  had  floated  about  him,  the  look 
of  loving  reproach  which  had  punished  his  au 
dacity.  Wondering  how  the  arrow  had  found 
its  way  to  the  threshold  of  his  tower,  Graham 
tried  to  open  the  heavy  door  with  his  key.  To 
his  surprise  it  refused  to  yield ;  the  bolt  was 
drawn  on  the  inside.  Some  one  was  in  his 
tower.  Thinking  that  the  Frenchman,  in  whose 
care  his  room  had  been  left,  might  be  at  work, 
he  lifted  the  heavy  brass  dolphin  which  served 
for  a  knocker,  and  rapped  loudly.  There  was 
no  answer.  The  rain  by  this  time  was  falling  in 
torrents.  He  was  entirely  without  shelter ;  and 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  295 

he  knocked  a  second  time,  calling  out  to  know 
who  was  inside  the  room.  He  heard  a  light  step 
approach  the  door,  and  a  hand  was  laid  upon 
the  lock.  The  old  wood-cutter  could  never  have 
walked  with  that  musical  footstep  ;  the  soft  rustle 
of  garments  could  not  have  been  made  by  him. 
Graham's  heart  leaped  from  its  quiet  beating 
into  a  very  tumult  of  pulsations,  as  the  bolt  was 
gradually  drawn  and  the  heavy  door  swung 
slowly  open.  On  the  threshold  of  his  lonely 
tower  stood  Millicent,  with  downcast  eyes  and 
pale  face.  For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  looking 
at  her,  doubting  his  own  vision ;  fearing  to  move 
lest  she  should  vanish  from  before  his  eager  eyes 
as  she  did  in  his  dreams.  Could  this  beautiful, 
colorless  creature,  with  marble  cheeks  and  fallen 
lids,  with  sombre  garments  and  nerveless,  pallid 
hands  crossed  upon  the  breast,  be  Millicent 
Almsford?  He  stepped  nearer  with  outstretched 
hands  to  touch  her,  to  feel  that  it  was  in  verity 
the  woman  who  had  lain  weeping  at  his  feet 
that  night  among  the  roses.  He  would  have 
folded  her  to  his  breast,  but  the  white  lids  flashed 
open,  the  sad,  tear-worn  eyes  looked  into  his 
own  with  an  expression  which  made  him  draw 
back ;  and  the  girl,  without  a  word,  passed  out 
of  the  doorway  and  stood  unprotected  in  the 
driving  storm. 

Before  her  mute  grief,  his  passionate  longing 


296  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

was  turned  to  a  great  and  holy  pity.  He  stood 
beside  her  and  said  gently,  — 

"  Millicent,  you  will  not  leave  me  without  a 
word?  You  must  not  go  out  into  the  storm; 
I  will  leave  you  here  alone,  if  you  wish,  until  the 
rain  is  over.  Do  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  doubt 
me,  dear  one." 

He  stopped,  for  his  words  had  made  her 
tremble.  She  feared  him  no  longer,  and  with  a 
little  sigh  laid  her  hand  in  his  and  suffered  hirn 
to  lead  her  into  the  room.  The  artist  placed 
his  visitor  in  a  great  chair,  and  busied  himself 
in  making  a  fire  on  his  cold  hearth. 

"  Now  this  is  more  cheerful,  fair  lady,  is  it  not?  " 
he  cried,  in  a  pleasant  voice.  "  And  pray  tell  me 
what  brought  you  to  my  lonely  dwelling." 

"  I  had  always  wanted  to  see  your  tower, 
Graham ;  and  this  morning  they  all  went  to  San 
Francisco  for  the  day,  and  I  thought  I  would 
ride  over  and  look  at  it  from  the  outside.  I 
found  old  John  airing  the  room,  and  accepted 
his  invitation  to  rest  here  for  half  an  hour 
before  riding  home.  He  came  up  just  now  to  tell 
me  that  it  was  going  to  rain,  but  as  he  thought  it 
would  be  only  a  shower  he  had  put  my  horse 
under  shelter.  This  is  how  I  came  here;  and 
now  tell  me  what  brought  you  so  unexpectedly 
from  town." 

"  I  cannot  tell,  white  one.    Your  will,  perhaps." 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  297 

"  Nay,  friend,  that  has  never  swayed  thee  one 
hair's-breadth  from  thine  appointed  course." 

He  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  looked  out  of 
the  window.  She  did  not  know  —  it  was  better 
for  her  perhaps  that  she  never  should  know  — 
how  great  an  influence  she  had  wielded  over 
his  life.  She  did  not  know  that  for  her,  faith 
and  youth  had  bloomed  in  his  heart  when  he 
had  thought  them  dead.  Her  untruth  was  kill 
ing  them,  and  their  death-agony  had  shaken 
and  worn  him  cruelly.  She  thought  him  hard 
and  relentless.  It  might  be  easier  for  her  to 
dull  the  pain  in  her  heart,  with  this  conscious 
ness  of  injury  received.  He  would  never  tell 
her  of  the  irreparable  wrong  she  had  done  him. 
If  he  was  not  forgiving  he  was  magnanimous. 
No  word  of  reproach  should  pass  his  lips. 

Outside  the  rain  was  pouring  down,  but  less 
steadily ;  the  patter  of  the  drops  sounded  more 
and  more  lightly  on  the  window-panes.  The 
shower  would  not  long  continue.  Graham  took 
note  of  the  clearing  sky,  and  sighed  heavily. 
With  all  her  faults  he  loved  her;  the  tower 
would  be  lonelier  than  ever  when  she  had  flitted 
from  it  like  a  sprite  of  the  rain-storm.  The 
great  trees  outside  lifted  up  their  branches 
with  a  mighty  wailing,  echoing  his  sigh ;  and 
Millicent,  as  if  conscious  that  love  was  pleading 
against  pride  in  that  strong  heart  which  had 


298  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

never  learned  the  lesson  of  forgiveness,  turned 
her  white,  appealing  face  towards  him.  The 
man's  being  had  been  swept  that  day  with  fiery 
impulses  from  the  first  moment  of  conscious 
ness.  Passionate  love,  pity,  scorn,  and  anger 
had  in  turn  written  their  impress  on  his  mobile 
face.  He  came  close  to  her  side,  and  taking 
both  her  hands  in  his,  knelt  at  her  side : 

"O  Millicent,  Millicent!  could  he  not  have 
spared  you?  We  could  have  loved  each  other 
so  truly  !  Poor  child,  poor  child  !  What  fiend 
was  he  to  have  betrayed  you  !  But  now  it  can 
never  be,  never,  never,  never  !  "  The  words  rang 
out  drearily,  the  death-knell  of  all  that  had  made 
life  beautiful  to  them  both.  The  pale  girl  sat 
motionless,  speechless,  her  eyes  dark  with  hor 
ror,  her  hands  nerveless  in  his  passionate  grasp. 
Tears  fell  upon  those  white  fingers  which  he  had 
so  often  kissed,  —  cruel  tears  wrung  from  the 
bruised  heart  of  the  man  she  loved ;  tears  that 
she  had  no  power  to  check,  tears  that  had  their 
source  in  her  own  sin.  In  that  hour  of  agony, 
if  remorse  may  in  aught  atone  for  error,  Milli 
cent  must  have  been  forgiven  of  the  angels. 
The  proud  man  knew  how  to  suffer,  but  he 
could  not  forgive.  He  arose  and  dashed  the 
tears  from  his  eyes ;  they  had  cost  him  mortal 
pain. 

The  rain  was  over,  the  gray  sky  had  cleared ; 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  299 

and  Millicent,  like  a  gray  shadow,  slipped  from 
the  tower,  leaving  her  lover  alone,  with  the 
mocking  sunlight  shining  on  his  dark,  tear- 
stained  face. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

"  Our  bread  was  such  as  captives'  tears 
Have  moistened  many  a  thousand  years, 
Since  man  first  pent  his  brother  men 
Like  brutes  within  an  iron  den." 

IT  was  a  long  chase  that  brought  Hal  Deering 
and  Maurice  Galbraith  face  to  face  with  the  ruf 
fian,  whom  Hal  readily  identified.  They  found 
him  with  a  group  of  new-found  friends  in  the 
chief  liquor  saloon  of  a  small,  rather  disrepu 
table  town,  fifty  miles  from  the  Ranch.  When 
the  two  young  men  entered  the  place,  the  man 
they  were  looking  for  asked  them  to  join  in  the 
"  all-round  drink  "  he  was  about  to  "  stand  treat 
for,"  which  invitation  was  promptly  declined  by 
Hal  Deering.  After  a  whispered  word,  Galbraith 
had  left  the  shop ;  and  Hal,  seating  himself  at  a 
table,  awaited  the  return  of  his  friend,  quietly 
enduring  the  insulting  remarks  which  the  of 
fended  Horton  heaped  upon  him.  The  loafers 
in  the  shop  had  a  kindly  feeling  toward  the 
man  who  had  treated  them,  and  did  not  dis 
courage  him  in  his  attempts  to  force  the  new 
comer  into  a  quarrel.  But  Hal  was  imperturb 
able,  and  answered  neither  with  look  nor  word. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  301 

Stimulated  by  the  whiskey  he  had  imbibed,  and 
the  admiring  attention  of  his  friends,  the  rowdy 
finally  called  out  in  a  brutal  voice,  — 

"  If  you  think  yerself  too  good  to  drink  with 
this  yere  crowd,  p'raps  yer  would  n't  mind  amus 
ing  'em  by  showing  'em  the  last  style  of  dancing 
down  in  'Frisco.  'T  would  raley  please  us  to  see 
you  step  out." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  his  pistol  from  his  belt 
and  pointed  it  at  Deering.  The  more  sober 
ones  of  the  party  here  interfered  ;  and  the  burly 
saloon-keeper  stepped  forward  with  the  remark, 
that  he  "  did  n't  mean  to  'low  anything  but  fair 
play  in  his  shanty;  and  that  if  the  genl'm'n  had 
a  difference  between  them  they  must  settle  it 
outside." 

The  man  whom  Deering  was  after  seated  him 
self  astride  a  hogshead  of  beer  and  cocked  his 
pistol,  advising  the  "  boss  "  to  keep  out  of  the 
affair  if  he  valued  his  "  sweet  life." 

"Now,  then,  young  man,  if  yer  don't  cut  a 
caper  before  I  count  three,  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
see  how  much  of  your  right  boot-heel  I  can 
carry  away  with  this  bullet,  without  endangering 
them  handsome  feet  o'  yourn." 

Hal,  only  afraid  of  losing  his  man,  answered 
coolly,  — 

"You  can  shoot  if  you  want  to.  I  am  a 
stranger  in  this  place,  and  I  prefer  to  do  my 
dancing  at  home." 


302  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

The  proprietor  again  interposed,  and  laying 
his  hand  on  the  bully's  shoulder,  ordered  him  to 
put  up  his  shooting-irons.  Horton  threw  him  off, 
and  things  were  beginning  to  look  rather  seri 
ous ;  when  Deering  saw  Galbraith  crossing  the 
street  with  two  men,  one  of  whom  he  recognized 
as  the  county  sheriff. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  have  come  a  long 
distance  to  find  this  man ;  I  am  anxious  to  have 
his  company  as  far  as  the  San  Bernardino  prison, 
where  he  will  find  comfortable  board  provided 
for  him.  If  you  are  law-abiding  citizens,  you 
will  not  interfere  with  the  arrest  of  Daniel  Hor 
ton  on  an  indictment  of  murder." 

As  he  finished  speaking,  the  three  men  en 
tered,  and  the  sheriff  laid  his  hand  on  Horton's 
shoulder.  Murder  is  an  ugly  word,  and  a  silence 
followed  Hal's  speech.  The  crowd  instinctively 
drew  back  from  the  man  who  had  been  charged 
with  the  foul  crime ;  and  a  silence  ensued,  which 
was  broken  by  the  sheriff,  a  high-voiced  little 
man,  who  said  in  a  loud  tone, — 

"  I  arrest  you,  Dan  Horton,  for  the  murder  of 
Ah  Lam,  committed  at  Carey's  Bridge,  on  the 
afternoon  of  Wednesday  last." 

A  revulsion  of  feeling  was  manifest  in  the 
faces  of  the  crowd.  The  horror  for  a  person 
who  has  committed  the  unatonable  crime  of 
murder  had  been  felt;  but  when  it  transpired 


SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH.  303 

that  the  victim  was  a  Chinaman,  the  case  ap 
peared  to  be  very  much  altered.  The  man,  quick 
to  see  the  favorable  change  in  public  sentiment, 
cried,  — 

"  Wall,  boys,  you  see  I  am  'spected  of  having 
done  the  business  for  one  of  these  Chinese  ver 
min.  What  sort  of  a  town  's  this  as  will  see  a 
man  'rested  for  that?  " 

Daniel  Horton's  experience  of  life  in  the 
rough  mining  towns,  where  the  last  five  years  of 
his  life  had  been  spent,  gave  him  the  hope  that 
the  men  in  the  saloon  would  help  him  to  escape 
from  arrest.  But  though  sympathy  for  him  was 
evinced  by  the  group  of  idlers,  there  was  no 
attempt  at  resisting  the  officers ;  and  the  sheriff", 
assisted  by  Galbraith  and  Deering,  finally  suc 
ceeded  in  placing  the  hand-cuffs  on  his  wrists. 
When  he  saw  that  there  was  no  help  for  him,  he 
submitted  to  be  led  from  the  saloon,  giving  one 
parting  look  of  scorn  at  the  friends  whom  he 
had  won  by  a  glass  of  liquor  and  lost  on  the 
appearance  of  an  officer. 

"  Of  all  the  derned  mean  skunks  as  I  ever 
met,  this  town  numbers  the  most,"  he  muttered, 
as  the  screen  door  swung  to  behind  him. 

The  examination  of  the  prisoner  was  to  be 
held  in  the  court-room  of  the  county  prison  of 
San  Bernardino.  Millicent  was  summoned  to  be 
present.  Escorted  by  Deering  and  Galbraith, 


304  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

she  arrived  before  the  entrance  of  the  gloomy 
building,  one  bright  October  morning.  It  was 
a  day  when  life  seemed  a  pleasant  thing,  if  only 
because  there  were  sunlight  and  color  in  the 
odorous  woods  and  pleasant  highways.  Just  as 
they  reached  the  doorway,  a  line  of  people  filed 
out  from  the  narrow  portal.  They  were  the 
discharged  prisoners,  some  of  whom  had  been 
in  confinement  for  twenty-four  hours  only,  while 
others  had  not  breathed  the  free  air  for  many 
weary  months.  A  girl  not  older  than  Millicent 
passed  them  with  a  slow,  inelastic  step  and 
downcast  eyes.  Her  slender  figure  was  poorly 
but  decently  clad  in  a  gown  of  rusty  black,  her 
hair  neatly  arranged,  her  hands  and  face  clean 
and  of  a  remarkable  pallor.  She  alone  among 
the  little  group  seemed  loath  to  leave  the  prison, 
where  at  least  she  had  been  among  those  who 
could  not  look  down  on  her.  At  the  threshold 
she  paused  and  shuddered,  as  if  the  wide  street, 
with  its  row  of  young  shade-trees  and  neat  side 
walk,  were  more  forbidding  than  the  narrow 
prison-yard,  with  its  spiked  rails  and  dismal 
barred  windows.  Those  who  were  behind  be 
came  impatient  at  her  delay;  and  she  was 
pushed  not  ungently  into  the  street  by  the  man 
next  to  her  in  the  sad  procession.  As  she 
found  herself  alone  outside  the  dreary  stone 
building,  she  gave  a  low  groan,  clasping  her 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  305 

poor  thin  hands  together  over  her  breast.  Mil- 
licent,  moved  by  the  pathetic  gesture,  spoke  to 
her  gently,  asking  if  she  could  in  any  way  help 
her  ;  but  the  girl  shook  her  head  as  if  annoyed 
by  the  question,  and  walked  quickly  down  the 
street,  taking  the  first  turn  which  led  her  out  o 
sight  of  the  prison.  All  those  who  followed  were 
men,  most  of  whom  wore  a  conscious  expres 
sion,  as  if  they  were  more  embarrassed  at  being 
seen  leaving  the  prison  than  mortified  at  hav 
ing  merited  the  punishment  which  they  had 
undergone.  As  the  last  of  the  queue  filed  out, 
Galbraith  entered  the  doorway,  Millicent  follow 
ing  him,  and  Deering  bringing  up  the  rear.  In 
the  wide  stone  hall  which  they  entered  were 
groups  of  men  talking  together  or  leaning  idly 
against  the  rails.  A  heavy  grated  door  swung 
open  with  a  rusty,  grinding  sound,  and  two  men 
appeared,  arm-in-arm.  The  taller  of  the  two 
was  a  handsome  young  fellow,  with  blond,  curl 
ing  hair,  blue  eyes,  and  fresh  rosy  cheeks.  His 
expression  was  almost  infantine  in  its  beauty; 
and  this,  with  his  jaunty  air,  contrasted  strangely 
with  his  companion's  ugly,  stooping  figure  and 
downcast,  shamed  face.  The  latter  was  a  mis 
shapen  creature,  with  a  humped  back  and  a  large, 
ugly  head  furnished  with  coarse  hair  and  beard. 
As  the  grate  clanged  behind  the  couple, 
the  handsome  young  fellow  laughed  cheerily, 


306  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

stretched  his  limbs,  and  drew  a  long  breath  of 
relief. 

"  Ta-ta,  bully,  hope  I  won't  see  you  soon 
again,"  he  said,  nodding  impudently  to  the  door 
keeper.  The  smaller  man  was  lame,  as  well  as 
deformed;  and  the  under-warden,  who  had  joined 
Galbraith,  asked  him  kindly  how  his  leg  was 
doing. 

"  Better,  sir,  thank  you,"  croaked  the  unfortu 
nate  in  a  harsh  voice ;  "  it  came  hard  on  me  not 
havin '  George  here  to  help  me ;  but  it 's  all  right 
now.  Good-morning  to  you,  sir." 

"  Tell  me  about  those  men,"  said  Millicent  to 
an  official  whom  Galbraith  had  introduced  to 
her. 

"  They  are  brothers,  George  and  Pete  Marcy. 
Which  of  them  do  you  think  paid  a  twenty- 
dollar  fine  to  get  his  brother  out  of  prison 
just  now?  Likely  you  '11  think  it  was  the  good- 
looking  chap  ;  but  't  was  Pete  the  dwarf.  He  's 
the  tinker  and  general  useful  man  of  the  town, 
is  Pete ;  and  George  is  one  of  the  biggest  ras 
cals  in  the  State  of  California.  But  he  covers  his 
tracks  well ;  and  though  we  know  a  good  many 
things  about  him,  we  can  prove  nothing  more 
against  him  than  an  occasional  assault  and 
battery." 

"  And  did  the  poor  little  creature  pay  the  fine 
out  of  his  earnings?" 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  307 

"  Bless  you,  yes ;  and  pays  for  his  clothes,  — - 
nice  ones,  you  remarked,  mebbe?  Pete  gives 
that  rascal  every  dollar  he  earns ;  and  the  only 
thing  George  does  toward  supporting  himself, 
is  to  rob  an  occasional  hen-roost  when  he  wants 
to  give  a  supper  party." 

The  outer  door  now  closed  with  a  grave 
sound ;  it  had  let  out  its  day's  quota  of  men  and 
women  who  had  legally  expiated  their  crimes ; 
it  had  taken  in  its  one  breath  of  sun  and  air. 
From  a  narrow  window  Millicent  saw.the  Marcy 
brothers  walking  down  the  street,  George  with 
head  erect  and  swaggering  gait,  Pete  shambling 
awkwardly  along  at  his  side,  vainly  trying  to 
keep  pace  with  his  handsome  brother's  long 
strides. 

The  warden  now  led  the  way  to  the  court 
room.  The  keeper  of  the  gate,  a  stern-looking 
man,  with  iron-gray  hair  and  iron-rusted  clothes, 
stopped  Millicent  as  she  was  about  to  pass 
through  the  grated  door,  saying,— 

"  Put  up  your  veil,  please."  Three  inches  of 
transparent  red  tulle  masked  her  face  from  the 
brow  to  the  mouth.  So  slight  a  covering  was 
it  that  the  superior  officer  had  not  noticed  it; 
but  nothing  escaped  the  lynx-eyed  jailer,  who 
added  curtly,  "  Must  keep  it  up  all  through 
the  prison.  No  woman  is  allowed  to  enter  or 
leave  this  place  veiled." 


308  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

Millicent  looked  a  little  puzzled  as  she  un 
fastened  the  bit  of  lace ;  and  the  grim  guardian 
added,  in  a  voice  which  was  something  softer 
than  the  grating  of  his  key  in  the  lock,  — 

"  You  need  n't  be  ashamed  to  put  up  your 
veil,  with  suck  a  face  as  yours/' 

Millicent  smiled  an  acknowledgment  of  the 
compliment,  and  passed  through  the  gate,  hold 
ing  fast  to  the  slip  of  yellow  paper  and  the  red 
ticket  which  had  been  given  to  her,  and  which 
were  necessary  to  secure  an  exit  from  that  pre 
cinct  which  is  so  easily  entered  and  so  difficult 
to  leave. 

"You  have  captivated  that  grim  old  fellow 
with  one  glance,  Miss  Almsford.  How  do  you 
do  it?  "  queried  Galbraith. 

"What  do  you  mean?  I  don't,"  answered 
Millicent  rather  inconsistently. 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  prison- 
yard  ;  and  Millicent,  with  a  shiver,  looked  up 
at  the  high,  smooth  stone  walls,  with  their  cruel 
topping  of  iron  spikes.  In  a  certain  angle  she 
stopped  a  moment,  attracted  by  a  little  fern 
which  had  found  place  for  its  slender  roots  in  a 
cranny  of  the  masonry.  She  suddenly  started, 
and  with  a  horrified  expression  ran  back  a  few 
paces,  grown  pale  to  the  lips.  The  warden, 
who  had  looked  at  her  with  an  odd  expression, 
said,  — 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  309 

"  You  were  standing,  just  now,  miss,  on  the 
spot  where  the  gallows  is  always  erected." 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  shaking  voice. 
"  I  saw  it." 

Maurice  Galbraith  quietly  drew  her  arm  under 
his  own,  and  said  gently,  but  authoritatively,  — 

"  Come,  my  child,  do  not  be  nervous;  you 
have  a  great  deal  to  go  through  with  to-day." 

He  fixed  his  deep,  serious  eyes  on  her  face 
for  a  moment ;  and  the  girl,  sensitive  to  his  quiet 
influence,  quickly  recovered  herself. 

They  passed  up  a  narrow,  dark  stone  stair 
case,  and  along  a  corridor  running  outside  the 
cells.  Most  of  the  heavy  wooden  doors  were 
open,  the  outer  grating  of  iron  revealing  the 
interior  of  the  cells.  In  one  of  these  a  young 
mulatto,  the  Figaro  of  the  village,  stood  leaning 
against  the  bars  talking  to  a  respectable-looking 
man  of  his  own  color,  who  proved  to  be  the 
pastor  of  a  Methodist  church.  The  young  man 
was  a  handsome  fellow,  carefully  and  neatly 
dressed.  He  seemed  somewhat  excited,  and 
talked  in  a  loud  voice,  which  he  lowered  at  the 
approach  of  the  party.  Galbraith  inquired 
what  crime  he  had  been  charged  with,  and 
learned  from  the  officer  that  he  had  wounded 
his  brother  mortally  in  a  quarrel ;  "  They  both 
was  waitin'  on  the  same  gal,"  the  attendant 
added  in  explanation.  A  man  lying  at  full- 


310  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

length  upon  the  floor  sprang  to  his  feet  as  they 
passed  his  door,  and  walked  furiously  up  and 
down  the  narrow  room,  shaking  his  head  from 
side  to  side,  reminding  Millicent  of  a  caged 
panther  she  had  once  seen.  Each  dreary, 
cramped  apartment  imprisoned  some  unfortu 
nate,  either  suffering  the  penalty  for,  or  awaiting 
the  judgment  of,  his  crimes.  Millicent  felt  the 
chill  air  of  the  prison  damp  and  fetid  upon  her 
cheek,  and  yet  she  did  not  hurry  down  the  cor 
ridor,  but  walked  slowly,  apparently  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  but  with  one  quick, 
sidelong  glance,  taking  in  the  details  of  each  of 
the  cells  and  the  faces  of  the  malefactors,  im 
pressions  which  never  faded  from  her  memory. 
Some  of  the  men  laughed  impudently  as  the 
little  group  passed  their  cells ;  and  one  fellow  of 
wild  aspect  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  with  a 
sudden  movement,  as  if  ashamed  of  being  seen 
behind  the  disgraceful  bars.  A  pair  of  youthful 
criminals  were  engaged  in  playing  moro,  the 
great  Italian  gambling  game.  One  of  the  youths 
was  a  native  of  Italy;  and  he  had  evidently 
taught  his  companion  in  confinement  the  simple 
but  exciting  game.  No  cards  or  dice,  checkers 
or  other  paraphernalia,  are  needed ;  the  game 
is  played  with  the  fingers  only.  Those  of  the 
left  hand  keep  the  account  of  the  game.  With 
the  right  hand  a  quick  movement  is  made  by 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

both  players  simultaneously,  showing  a  certain 
number  of  ringers ;  while  at  the  same  moment 
each  calls  out  his  guess  of  the  number  which 
his  antagonist  holds  up, —  "  due  "  -  "  cinque" 
"  tutti"  The  familiar  words  fell  upon  Millicent's 
ears,  and  she  stopped  outside  the  door,  her 
cheeks  dyed  with  a  flush  of  pleasure,  her  eyes 
sparkling  at  the  sound  of  her  native  language. 
She  did  not  remember  that  she  was  in  a  prison; 
she  thought  of  nothing  but  the  fact  that  here 
was  a  compatriot;  she  spoke  to  him  in  a  low 
voice  a  few  words  of  greeting.  The  fellow 
stared  at  her  at  first ;  and  then,  seeing  that  hers 
was  a  friendly  face,  left  his  seat  on  the  corner 
of  the  narrow  bed,  came  close  to  the  grate  and 
poured  out  a  torrent  of  words  in  the  patois  of  the 
Venetians.  When  he  learned  that  the  signorina 
was  not  only  of  his  country,  but  from  his  city, 
the  poor  fellow,  whose  crime  had  been  nothing 
more  than  participation  in  a  street-fight,  was 
moved  to  tears.  Millicent  forgot  her  compan 
ions  and  the  strange  place  of  meeting,  and  lis 
tened  with  sympathizing  attention  to  the  story 
of  the  man  with  the  dull  red-gold  hair  and  white, 
delicate  features,  whose  face  recalled  more  than 
one  friend  in  the  far-off  city  of  her  home.  His 
profession  was  that  of  a  cobbler,  his  name  Gio 
vanni  Brogli.  He  had  drifted  out  to  this  strange 
country  through  a  love  of  wandering,  and  had 


312  SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH. 

been  drawn  into  a  street-brawl  by  some  chance 
acquaintances,  who  had  robbed  him  of  all  that 
remained  of  his  small  fortune;  and  when  he 
would  have  fought  his  betrayers,  they  turned  him 
over  to  the  police.  True  or  false,  the  story  was 
a  pitiful  one.  The  creature  could  speak  next  to 
no  English;  and  Millicent's  tender  heart  was 
troubled  by  the  recital  of  his  griefs.  She  had 
no  money  with  her,  and  before  either  of  her 
companions  was  aware  of  her  intention,  she  had 
untwined  a  gold  serpent  of  exquisite  workman 
ship  from  her  throat  and  held  it  through  the 
bars  to  the  man  inside  the  cell.  He  looked  at 
her  with  wondering  eyes,  and  taking  the  white 
fingers  in  his  own  rough,  blackened  hand,  kissed 
them  reverently,  murmuring  a  blessing  which 
brought  tears  to  her  eyes. 

"  I  say,  Princess,  you  must  n't  do  that  sort 
of  thing;"  said  Hal,  thoroughly  scandalized, 
pulling  her  by  the  sleeve.  "  Come  on!  you 
can't  stand  talking  to  these  rascals  and  giving 
them  your  jewelry,  —  it  is  n't  sensible." 

She  answered  impatiently,  and  then  saying 
a  word  of  farewell  to  the  prisoner,  she  submitted 
to  be  led  away  from  the  grate  by  Galbraith, 
followed  by  .a  fervent  parting  blessing  from 
Giovanni  of  the  reddish  locks. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so  absurdly  soft 
hearted.  What  did  you  want  to  give  that  beg 
gar  your  lovely  necklace  for?  "  said  Hal. 


SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH.  313 

"  I  had  no  money  with  me,"  half  penitently. 

"  Well,  I  could  have  let  you  have  some.  But 
it 's  against  the  rule.  I  should  n't  wonder  if 
you  got  into  trouble  for  doing  such  a  thing," 
continued  the  young  man,  who  was  genuinely 
shocked  at  Millicent's  behavior. 

"  There  was  no  harm  done,  was  there,  Mr. 
Galbraith?  I  won't  be  scolded.  It  was  my  ser 
pent;  I  will  do  what  I  choose  with  my  own 
things,  and  will  not  be  dictated  to  by  you." 
Millicent  was  angry  at  Deering's  very  natural 
interference;  and  Galbraith,  anxious  to  spare 
her  all  annoyance,  gave  Hal  a  warning  kick, 
and  hurried  her  towards  their  destination,  lest 
she  should  feel  moved  to  part  with  any  more 
of  her  personal  property  for  the  benefit  of  the 
prisoners. 

They  now  entered  a  small  apartment;  and 
Millicent  learned  that  before  the  opening  of  the 
trial,  she  was  called  upon  to  identify  the  mur 
derer  of  Ah  Lam.  The  question  was  asked,  — 

"  Could  you  identify,  on  oath,  the  man  you 
saw  at  Carey's  Bridge?  You  were  under  great 
excitement  at  the  time ;  you  could  hardly  be 
expected  to  remember  anything  beyond  the 
fact  of  the  killing." 

"  I  am  positive  I  can  identify  him." 

"  On  oath ;  are  you  sure?  " 

"  Perfectly  so." 


314  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  How  could  you  surely  recognize  a  man  you 
have  seen  but  once,  under  very  painful  circum 
stances,  six  weeks  ago?  " 

"I  remember*  his  face  distinctly;  I  should 
know  his  voice  among  a  thousand." 

"  Be  careful ;  what  you  say  may  be  put  to  the 
test.  What  you  state  in  the  court  you  must  be 
able  to  prove." 

"  I  am  ready  to  prove  it." 

When  the  moment  came  for  the  identification 
of  the  prisoner,  Millicent's  eyes  were  bandaged ; 
and  twelve  men  filed  into  the  room,  among 
whom  she  was  told  was  the  man  arrested  for  the 
crime.  As  she  had  made  the  assertion  that  his 
voice  alone  would  betray  the  murderer  to  her, 
she  was  asked  to  listen  to  a  sentence  repeated 
in  turn  by  each  of  these  men.  Three  of  them 
had  said  the  stipulated  words,  and  the  fourth 
was  about  to  speak,  when  those  who  were  near 
est  to  Millicent  noticed  that  she  shuddered 
violently. 

"  Let  the  next  man  speak." 

The  fellow  looked  at  Millicent  askance,  and 
then  repeated  the  sentence  in  a  low,  unnatural 
voice.  He  had  said  but  three  words  when  she 
interrupted  him. 

"  The  person  who  is  now  speaking  is  the  man 
who  assaulted  me  at  Carey's  Bridge." 

The  judge,  who  had  taken  a  keen  interest  in 


SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH.  315 

all  Millicent  had  said,  now  motioned  to  the  men 
to  change  places.  The  bandage  being  removed, 
she  glanced  at  the  row  of  men  and  said,  — 

"  He  now  stands  at  the  end  of  the  row  near 
est  the  window." 

Her  expression,  as  she  turned  her  eyes  and 
looked  in  the  face  of  Daniel  Horton,  was  cold  and 
set  as  that  of  one  of  the  younger  Fates.  Aversion 
and  horror  were  therein  painted.  As  she  spoke 
she  pointed  at  the  guilty  wretch,  who  moved 
uneasily  under  her  gaze,  and  dropped  his  bold 
eyes  before  the  light  in  her  gray  orbs,  as  if 
their  fire  scorched  him. 

The  preliminaries  accomplished,  all  the  par 
ticipants  adjourned  to  the  court-room,  which  was 
a  bare  apartment,  very  grimy,  and  sadly  in  need  of 
paint  and  soapsuds.  At  one  end  was  a  slightly 
raised  table,  behind  which  the  judge  seated  him 
self.  He  was  a  singular-looking  man,  and  wore 
his  hair  long,  in  greasy  ringlets  falling  as  far  as 
the  coat-collar.  His  stout  person  was  adorned 
with  a  large  amount  of  rather  flashy  jewelry,  and 
a  pink  cravat  was  supplemented  by  a  bunch 
of  fuchsias  worn  in  the  button-hole.  The  space 
in  front  of  the  bench  was  railed  in  by  an  iron 
balustrade  painted  green.  At  the  long  tables 
sat  groups  of  men  busily  engaged  in  writing  or 
in  conversation.  A  policeman  standing  near 
the  judge's  desk,  when  the  clamor  in  the  court- 


SAN  EOSAEIO   RANCH. 

room  became  unusually  loud,  pounded  on  the 
floor   with  his    club,  whereat   the    voices    grew 
lower  for  a  brief  space,  and  then   the    hubbub 
began  again.     Somebody  seemed  to  be  address 
ing  the  court,  though  Millicent  thought  that  no 
one  paid  much  attention  to  him.     The  entrance 
of  the  prosecuting  council  in  the  case  of  man 
slaughter  soon  to   be  called,  with    two    of  the 
chief  witnesses,  made  some  stir;   and  Millicent 
was  conscious,  as  she  took  her  place,  that  the 
eyes  of  all  present  were  fixed  upon  her.     She 
looked   wonderingly   about   the    dismal    apart 
ment,  with   its    dirty  wooden   settles   and   bare 
floor,  at  the   judge  on   the  bench,    and  at  the 
crowd  of  poorly  dressed    people    in    the    seats 
behind  her.     Galbraith    now  entered   the   little 
pen,  and,  seating  himself  at  the  table,  proceeded 
to  look  through  some  papers  which  his    clerk 
handed  to  him,    while  the    man   who   was    ha 
ranguing  the  court  continued  his  discourse,  in 
which    nobody   seemed    to     take    any    interest. 
Millicent  had  never  been  in  court  before.     Her 
only  experience   of  the  abodes   of  justice  had 
been  the  long  afternoons  passed  in  the    court 
rooms  of  the  Doge's  palace,  studying  the  fres 
coes    and    beautiful    carvings    of  those    famous 
apartments.     She  had  always  invested  the  pre 
cincts  of  justice  with  a  vague  majesty  and  splen 
dor.     A  judge,  in  her  imagination,  was  a  stately 


SAN  EOSAEIO  RANCH.  317 

man  clothed  in  crimson  and  ermine,  with  grave, 
reverend  features,  majestic  in  mien,  deliberate 
in  speech.  When  Hal  pointed  out  Judge  Croley, 
as  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  American 
jurists,  she  was  greatly  astonished. 
"  Will  he  try  the  case  in  that  dress?  " 
"  Oh,  yes ;  I  heard  Croley  condemn  a  man  to 
death  in  very  much  the  same  costume  as  that 
which  he  wears  to-day.  The  cravat  was  a  little 
brighter  pink,  I  think ;  and  I  remember  he  wore 
carnations  in  his  button-hole.  He  said  in  a 
pleasant,  nonchalant  voice,  very  much  the  tone 
he  would  use  in  ordering  his  farmer  to  kill  a 
pair  of  chickens,  '  You  are  condemned  to  be 
taken  to  the  San  Bernardino  prison,  there  to  be 
hanged  by  the  neck  until  you  are  dead,  on  the 
third  day  of  May  at  twelve  o'clock;  and  may 
God  have  mercy  upon  your  soul !  ' ! 

Millicent  shuddered  as  she  heard  the  case 
called,  and  faltered  for  the  first  time  in  her  desire 
to  see  justice  done  to  the  murderer  of  Ah  Lam. 
It  is  such  a  terrible  responsibility,  the  taking 
of  life;  can  man's  law  make  it  guiltless?  The 
great  question  which  all  of  modern  thought  has 
not  yet  solved,  troubled  the  mind  of  the  young 
woman,  who  could  accept  no  judgment  or  creed 
on  faith ;  she  painfully  and  laboriously  solved 
the  problems  of  life  by  the  force  of  her  own 
reasoning. 


3l8  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  There  is  Pierson,  the  counsel  for  the  de 
fence,"  whispered  Hal,  as  a  little  man  strutted 
up  the  aisle  between  the  benches  full  of  people, 
and  entered  the  green-railed  enclosure.  He  was 
perhaps  the  most  grotesque-looking  person  Mil- 
licent  had  ever  seen.  His  height  could  not  have 
been  above  five  feet;  and  this,  with  his  small 
hands  and  feet,  gave  him  an  exceedingly  effemi 
nate  appearance.  His  small  round  head  was 
like  a  ball,  on  the  surface  of  which  little  globular 
eyes  and  a  beak-like  nose  had  been  very  casu 
ally  placed.  These  features  did  not  seem  at  all 
a  necessary  part  of  the  head,  which  resembled 
that  of  a  parrot.  Before  he  spoke  he  put  his 
head  on  one  side,  in  a  bird-like  fashion ;  and  he 
occasionally  shook  himself,  very  much  as  a 
canary  does  when  anything  has  ruffled  its  com 
posure.  Millicent  had  learned  from  Galbraith 
that  this  man  was  the  most  prominent  criminal 
lawyer  in  California.  As  she  looked  at  his  high, 
narrow  forehead  and  mean,  pinched  smile  she 
thought  that  among  all  the  malefactors  in  San 
Bernardino  prison  she  had  seen  no  face  as  bad 
as  that  of  Pierson,  the  great  criminal  lawyer.  The 
prisoner  was  now  brought  into  the  court.  After 
stating  his  name,  age,  residence,  and  occupation, 
he  was  asked  the  question,  — 

"  Are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty  of  the  wilful 
murder  of  Ah  Lam  at  Carey's  Bridge,  on  the 
afternoon  of  Wednesday,  October  16?" 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  319 

The  noisy  court-room  had  grown  perfectly 
still ;  and  the  prisoner's  low-spoken  answer  was 
heard  in  the  farthest  corner  with  perfect  dis 
tinctness,  — 

"  Not  guilty." 

The  counsel  for  the  defence  now  stated  that 
the  prisoner  acknowledged  having  been  at 
Carey's  Bridge  on  the  day  of  the  murder.  He 
had  there  seen  and  spoken  to  Miss  Almsford, 
but  had  fled  at  the  approach  of  some  gentle 
men  of  the  party.  He  admitted  that  he  had 
assaulted  Miss  Almsford,  but  pleaded  that  he 
had  no  intention  of  injuring  her. 

"What  were  you  doing  at  the  mill?" 

"  I  come  there  to  meet  a  man  as  I  had  'gaged 
to." 

"  What  man  was  it?" 

The  prisoner  declined  to  answer  this  question, 
and  finally  declared  that  he  did  not  know  the 
man's  name. 

"For  what  purpose  did  you  meet  this  man?  " 
'  "  To  do  a  job  as  we  was  hired  for." 

"  And  what  were  you  hired  to  do?  " 

"To  carry  off  the  young  lady." 

At  this  astonishing  statement  a  moment's 
silence  fell  upon  the  court-room,  which  was 
broken  by  Pierson's  sharp  voice :  he  asked  his 
client  to  name  the  person  who  had  engaged 
him  to  kidnap  the  young  girl. 


320  SAN  EOSARIO   RANCH. 

With  clasped  hands  and  startled  eyes,  Milli- 
cent  looked  into  the  face  of  the  ruffian,  waiting 
to  hear  the  name  of  the  man  who  had  plotted 
against  her.  John  Graham,  in  the  excitement 
of  the  moment,  stood  up  in  his  place  to  get  a 
better  view  of  Horton ;  while  Maurice  Galbraith 
sat  with  an  unmoved  countenance,  keenly  watch 
ing  the  features  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  The 
question  was  twice  put  to  him,  —  "Who  was  the 
man?"  but  he  did  not  speak.  A  third  time  he 
was  asked.  Finally,  he  looked  at  his  lawyer, 
who  nodded  slightly;  and  then,  with  a  defiant 
glance  toward  the  artist,  at  whom  he  pointed  an 
unsteady  finger,  he  said,  — 

"  The  man  as  hired  me  to  do  the  job  stands 
in  this  yer  court-room.  He  calls  himself  John 
Graham." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed  this  astounding 
statement,  succeeded  by  an  incredulous  murmur 
which  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth.  From  the 
confused  sounds  rang  out  a  deep,  clear  voice 
uttering  these  words  :  — 

"  It  is  a  shameful  lie  !  "  Millicent  it  was  who 
had  spoken,  rising  to  her  feet  and  stretching  out 
her  arms  toward  Graham  with  a  gesture  of 
womanly  protection,  as  if  to  shield  him  from 
the  ruffian's  slanderous  breath. 

Silence  was  at  last  enforced,  and  the  examina 
tion  of  Horton  proceeded.  He  repeated  his 


SAN  P.  OS  A  RIO  RANCH.  321 

statement  that  he  had  not  killed  the  Chinaman, 
and  that  the  abduction  of  Millicent  had  been 
.attempted  at  the  instigation  of  John  Graham. 
The  artist,  after  the  first  moment  of  surprise,  said 
nothing,  but  remained  perfectly  silent,  his  eyes 
fixed  intently  on  Daniel  Horton's  face.  The 
story  told  by  the  prisoner  was  one  which  bore 
some  semblance  of  truth.  He  had  met  his  con 
federate  on  the  morning  of  the  picnic  as  had 
been  previously  arranged,  and  had  attempted 
to  carry  off  Miss  Almsford  ;  but  hearing  the 
voices  of  the  gentlemen  had  fled.  He  had 
undertaken  the  affair  some  time  beforehand, 
and  had  twice  visited  Graham's  studio,  where 
the  artist  had  made  a  painting  of  him  in  order 
to  explain  his  presence  there.  A  scrap  of 
paper,  soiled  and  tumbled,  was  produced,  on 
which  were  traced  these  words  in  Graham's 
handwriting:  "  Come  to  the  place  I  told  you 
of,  to-morrow  at  one ;  you  shall  be  well  paid." 
One  o'clock  had  been  the  hour  of  the  picnic; 
and  this  note,  it  was  affirmed,  had  been  sent  to 
Horton  on  the  previous  day  as  per  agreement. 
On  being  further  examined,  the  fellow  showed 
a  dogged  persistence  in  his  story;  and  Maurice 
Galbraith's  adroit  cross-questioning  failed  to 
make  him  contradict  his  original  statement  in 
any  particular.  The  day  waned  as  the  storm 
of  words  raged ;  and  at  dusk  the  trial  was  ad- 

21 


322  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

journed  until  the  following  day.  As  the  crowd 
filed  out  of  the  court-room,  Millicent  found 
Graham  at  her  side.  He  was  pale,  and  his  dark 
eyes  flashed  angrily.  He  was  about  to  speak 
to  her;  and  she  turned  toward  him  with  smiling 
lips  and  eyes,  when  Henry  Deering  stepped 
between  them,  and,  bowing  coolly  to  the  artist, 
drew  her  arm  through  his  own,  and,  before  she 
was  well  aware  of  his  intention,  led  her  from 
the  room.  The  eyes  of  a  dozen  curious  outsiders 
were  fixed  upon  her,  and  she  submitted  to  be 
placed'  in  the  wagon,  which  Hal  drove  off  at  a 
sharp  pace.  The  artist  remained  in  the  court 
room,  where  he  was  presently  joined  by  Maurice 
Galbraith,  who  in  a  formal  voice  asked  him  to 
accompany  him  to  his  apartment,  in  order  that 
they  might  discuss  the  new  and  unexpected 
feature  in  the  case.  The  two  men  walked  to 
gether  down  the  street,  both  too  much  excited 
to  trust  themselves  to  speak.  As  soon  as  they 
found  themselves  alone  in  Galbraith's  chamber 
at  the  inn,  Graham  cried  excitedly,  — 

"  Galbraith,  no  one  can  for  a  moment  believe 
that  infamous  lie,  —  you  can  make  the  fellow 
eat  his  words  to-morrow?" 

The  lawyer  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast, 
and  looked  into  his  companion's  face  with  a 
searching  gaze,  before  he  answered  slowly  and 
ironically,  — 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  323 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  Mr.  Graham,  that  you 
deny  all  collusion  in  the  attempt  to  carry  off 
Miss  Almsford?" 

"  Great  God  !  of  course  I  do.  Can  you  for 
a  moment  doubt  me  ?  I  to  carry  off  Millicent  ? 
Are  you  mad  to  ask  me  such  a  question?  Why, 
don't  you  know,  man,  how  much  I  have  cared 
for  that  girl?" 

"  It  is  not  difficult  for  the  most  indifferent 
observer  to  detect  your  admiration  for  Miss 
Almsford." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  what  does  that  prove?  It  is  a  point 
against  you  that  you  are  supposed  to  be  in  love 
with  the  young  lady,  and  gives  color  to  Horton's 
accusation." 

Graham  sank  into  a  seat,  and  the  lawyer 
continued, — 

"  Your  great  intimacy  at  the  Ranch  and  your 
marked  attentions  to  Miss  Almsford  were  ap 
parently  unaccountably  discontinued  by  your 
removal  to  San  Francisco.  This  feature  is 
against  you.  You  must  have  seen  that  in  the 
eyes  of  Henry  Deering,  Horton's  statement 
needed  strong  disproving." 

"  And  you,  Galbraith,  can  you  for  an  instant 
suspect  me  of  so  base,  so  vile  an  action?  Is  it 
possible  that  a  man  can  be  so  misjudged?  " 

"  All  I  have  to  say,  Mr.  Graham,  is  that  it  is 


324  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

my  hope  to  prove  you  innocent  of  the  crime 
in  which  Horton  has  implicated  you.  As  the 
friend  and  counsel  of  Miss  Almsford,  I  prefer  to 
believe  that  she  was  menaced  by  a  vulgar  ruf 
fian  and  not  by  a  man  who  might  have  aspired 
to  the  honor  and  privilege  of  guarding  her  from 
every  harm.  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  see 
you  in  the  course  of  the  evening." 

With  these  words  the  lawyer  left  the  apart 
ment,  his  nervous  face  suffused  by  a  deep  flush. 
John  Graham  stared  after  him  for  a  moment, 
and  then  passed  down  the  corridor  and  out 
into  the  quiet  night,  to  seek  counsel  from  the 
stars  in  this  strange  hour  of  doubt. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

"...  the  passions  of  her  mind, 
As  winds  from  all  the  compass  shift  and  blow, 
Made  war  upon  each  other  for  an  hour." 

"  MILLICENT  !  Millicent !  are  you  awake  ? " 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  first  day  of  the  trial ; 
and  Miss  Almsford,  sitting  in  her  chamber  warm 
ing  her  pretty  feet  before  the  fire,  recognized  the 
voice  and  answered,  — 

"  Yes,  Bab,  come  in." 

It  was  very  late,  past  twelve  o'clock ;  but  Bar 
bara  brought  news  of  a  visitor,  who  would  keep 
them  both  from  their  sleep  an  hour  longer.  Mr. 
Galbraith  was  downstairs  and  must  speak  with 
her.  Miss  Almsford  gave  a  little  tired  sigh,  and, 
folding  her  white  wrapper  about  her  shoulders, 
caught  the  thick  tangle  of  hair  together  with  a 
silver  arrow,  and,  without  glancing  at  the  mirror, 
left  the  room  and  joined  the  young  lawyer  in  the 
library. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Miss  Almsford  ; 
I  know  you  must  be  tired,  but  I  could  not  get 
here  sooner.  Miss  Barbara,  do  not  be  offended, 
but  I  must  ask  you  to  let  me  see  Miss  Almsford 


326  SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH. 

alone  for  a  few  minutes  ;  would  you  mind  wait 
ing  in  the  next  room  ? " 

When  they  were  alone,  the  young  man  seemed 
at  a  loss  how  to  open  the  interview  which  he 
had  sought.  Millicent,  tired  by  the  events  of  the 
exciting  day,  did  not  seem  inclined  to  help  him. 
After  a  long  and  rather  awkward  pause,  she 
turned  wearily  to  her  visitor  and  said,  — 

"  It  is  about  the  trial,  of  course  ?  " 

Galbraith  bowed  an  assent. 

"  About  the  statement  made  by  that  man  —  " 
She  shuddered,  as  if  unable  to  pronounce  his 
name.  The  young  man  silently  assented  again. 

"  Well,  there  is  nothing  to  be  said  by  me  be 
yond  what  I  have  already  said  :  it  is  an  infamous 
lie  !  It  is  so  apparent  a  fabrication  that  I  should 
hardly  have  thought  it  necessary  for  you  to  give 
yourself  the  trouble  to  come  so  far,  merely  to 
hear  me  repeat  what  I  asserted  this  afternoon." 

"It  is  your  honest  opinion,  then,  that  Mr. 
Graham  has  been  slandered  ?  " 

"  My  honest  opinion,  Mr.  Galbraith  ?  I  do  not 
know  how  to  give  any  other.  Are  you  come  to 
make  me  angry  ?  You  had  better  not,  for  we 
Italians  are  more  easily  roused  to  anger  than 
soothed.  I  am  so  tired,  too  ;  can  you  not  spare 
me  ? " 

Her  voice  dropped  from  the  deep,  indignant 
tone,  to  a  pleading  note  like  that  of  a  tired  child. 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  327 

Maurice  Galbraith,  leaning  quietly  against  the 
mantel-shelf,  with  downcast  eyes  and  calm  face, 
seemed  strangely  moved  by  the  words  of  the 
woman  who  stood  before  him,  so  white  and  so 
beautiful.  He  turned  toward  her  ;  and  when  he 
next  spoke,  a  tenderness  had  crept  all  unawares 
into  his  face,  which  shone  with  a  light  whose 
meaning  she  could  not  fail  to  understand.  His 
very  voice  seemed  a  caress  addressed  to  her  ear, 
so  low  and  gentle  was  it. 

"  My  child,  you  do  not  understand  me.  /  to 
make  you  angry,  to  add  one  annoyance  to  your 
life,  which  is  so  sad  ?  Ah  !  you  little  know  how 
gladly  —  "  He  stopped  suddenly,  warned,  by  the 
rising  flush  on  her  cheek,  that  he  was  saying 
other  words  than  those  which  he  had  come  to 
speak,  —  "you  little  know  how  gladly  I  would 
have  spared  you  the  question  which  it  was  neces 
sary  for  me  to  ask.  I  am  now  answered." 

"  But  you  do  not  believe  me  ?     I  see  that  —  " 

"  I  would  believe  you  if  all  the  angels  in  heaven 
should  deny  your  truth." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously  ;  she  was  infinitely 
touched  by  his  emotion.  He  cared  for  her ;  he 
loved  her  with  a  passion  which  she  could  under 
stand.  He  would  gladly — oh,  how  gladly! — have 
folded  her  life  about  with  a  protecting  care, 
keeping  the  very  winds  of  heaven  from  her  face 
if  they  should  blow  too  roughly ;  have  taken  her 


328  SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH. 

in  his  strong  arms,  stood  between  her  and  all 
the  world,  given  her  all  and  been  content  with 
the  giving,  asking  for  nought  but  the  right  to 
protect  her.  That  she  did  not  love  him  he 
knew  ;  that  she  cared  for  another  he  more  than 
imagined  ;  and  yet  he  would  have  been  content 
to  try  and  win  her  regard  by  a  life's  devotion. 

Of  all  this  he  spoke  not  one  word,  as  he  stood 
looking  into  her  face  with  burning,  tender  eyes. 
He  did  not  speak,  and  yet  he  knew  that  he  was 
understood.  The  woman  gave  a  little  weary 
sigh  ;  it  was  in  vain  !  To  her  there  was  but 
one  man  in  all  the  world.  He  said  no  word,  but 
stepped  toward  her  with  outstretched,  pleading 
hands,  with  tender  love  and  pity,  asking  noth 
ing,  giving  all  without  questioning,  without 
doubt.  She,  who  had  befriended  so  many,  and 
was  yet  without  a  friend,  who  had  been  tempest- 
tossed  and  shipwrecked  before  her  life-journey 
had  fairly  begun,  knew  what  it  was  that  lay  in 
Maurice  Galbraith's  outstretched  hands,  —  the 
love  of  a  life,  a  haven  of  peace  and  quiet.  He 
was  about  to  speak,  to  let  the  love  which  was 
troubling  his  heart  pour  itself  out  in  a  flood  of 
words  at  the  portal  of  her  ear  ;  but  with  a  move 
ment  she  checked  him.  The  repellent  gesture  of 
her  hand,  her  averted  head  and  downcast  eyes, 
answered  him.  He  understood  her  as  well,  bet 
ter  perhaps  than  if  he  had  spoken  and  she  had 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 


329 


answered.  It  left  him  another  chance,  too  ,  later, 
when  he  had  shown  her  how  faithfully  he  could 
wait,  he  might  speak  the  words  which  she  now 
refused  to  hear.  So  both  were  glad  that  they 
had  spoken  only  with  their  eyes.  She  had  been 
spared  the  pain  of  putting  into  words  that  which 
it  would  have  been  hard  for  him  to  hear ;  and 
he  was  glad  that  she  had  not  spoken  the  cold 
truth  which  he  read  in  her  face.  When  she 
spoke  again,  it  was  to  ignore  that  silent  prayer 
and  its  denial.  She  took  up  the  thread  of  the 
conversation  where  they  had  dropped  it :  — 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  convinced  of  this 
truth  ;  and  I  trust  that  you  will  bring  the  others, 
Henry  Deering  most  of  all,  to  feel  as  you  do." 

The  tender  look  of  love  died  out  from  Maurice 
Galbraith's  face.  He  turned  gloomily  away  from 
the  fair  woman  whose  beauty  was  not  for  him. 

"  I  cannot  tell,  I  do  not  know ;  what  man  can 
judge  another  ?  I  said  that  I  believed  you  ;  did 
I  imply  that  I  trusted  him  ? " 

Of  all  cruel  griefs  endured  by  Millicent  Alms- 
ford,  this  was  the  most  bitter,  —  that  her  lover, 
through  her  fault,  should  be  misjudged  ;  that 
in  the  eyes  of  others  he  should  suffer.  She 
realized  now  in  what  a  light  he  had  appeared 
to  Galbraith,  to  Hal  and  Barbara,  to  all  the 
small  circle  who  had  seen  their  friendship  flower 
into  love,  and  that  flower  tossed  to  the  earth 


330  SAN  EOSAEIO  RANCH. 

before  it  had  ripened  to  its  fruition.  His  sud 
den  disappearance,  her  own  too  obvious  grief, 
to  what  could  they  attribute  it  but  to  his  faith 
lessness  ?  And  now  that  this  base  slander  had 
been  cast  upon  him,  they  believed  it.  He  was 
compromised,  dishonored  in  their  eyes  ;  and  the 
fault  was  hers.  As  the  full  significance  of  all 
this  struck  her,  she  groaned  aloud,  clasping  her 
hands  together  over  her  grieved  heart  as  if  in 
mortal  agony.  How  could  she  right  him  in 
their  eyes  ?  How  could  she  dissipate  the  cloud 
which  darkened  his  stainless  honor? 

There  was  but  one  way,  —  to  tell  them  all  the 
sad  truth.  Her  honor  against  his !  How  could 
she  hesitate,  loving  him  as  she  did  ?  And  yet 
there  was  a  moment  of  awful  suspense.  Her 
proud  spirit,  which  had  borne  unaided  and  alone 
the  burden  which  would  have  crushed  a  feebler 
soul,  revolted  at  the  thought  of  a  new  humilia 
tion.  A  man's  honor  is  writ  on  a  strong  shield 
that  can  be  easily  cleansed.  It  may  receive 
many  a  hard  blow,  and  show  many  a  dint, 
and  yet  be  as  good  as  those  carried  by  his 
mates.  It  can  be  burnished  bright  again,  and 
held  up  for  all  men  to  see,  its  very  scars  prov 
ing  through  what  battles  it  has  been  worn,  and 
adding,  rather  than  detracting,  from  its  present 
lustre.  If  all  else  be  lost,  let  him  but  give  his 
life  to  expiate  his  sin,  and  the  blot  is  washed 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  331 

out  from  the  shield.  But  with  a  woman  it  is 
not  so.  Her  honor  must  be  maintained  by  a 
shield  of  crystal,  on  which  the  faintest  breath  of 
slander  leaves  its  foul  impress  ;  which  one  blow 
dealt  by  a  man's  hand  shatters  irrevocably.  This 
is  man's  code  of  honor  ;  and  as  man's  voice  is 
strongest  in  the  world,  it  is  the  world's  code  of 
honor.  Only  the  greatest  men  set  it  aside  as  un 
just  ;  only  the  strongest  refuse  to  recognize  it. 

All  this  Millicent  knew.  It  was  not  wonderful 
that  she  hesitated,  that  she  was  silent,  or  an 
swered  the  searching  questions  put  to  her  by  the 
young  lawyer  slowly  and  evasively.  She  was 
putting  off  the  moment  in  which  she  must  decide 
between  his  honor  and  her  own.  She  remem 
bered  the  indignant  look  Deering  had  cast  upon 
Graham  in  the  court-room,  the  cool  manner  in 
which  Barbara  had  spoken  of  him,  Mrs.  Deer- 
ing's  grieved  silence  respecting  the  man  who 
had  been  so  valued  a  friend  to  her,  and,  worst 
of  all,  Galbraith's  openly  expressed  doubt  of  his 
innocence.  A  woman  of  a  smaller  nature  who 
had  endured  Millicent's  cruel  experience  might, 
too,  have  doubted  Graham  ;  but  she  had  fath 
omed  his  nature  more  truly  in  a  few  months 
than  had  his  lifelong  friends.  She  knew  that 
in  it  there  was  no  room  for  one  ignoble  thought. 
His  faults  she  recognized  more  clearly  than 
if  she  had  loved  him  less.  She  knew  him 


332  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

to  be  selfish,  with  the  selfishness  of  genius  ;  hard 
of  heart,  with  the  indifference  to  human  pain 
common  to  those  men  who  are  capable  of  en 
during  the  most  terrible  suffering ;  intolerant  of 
those  who  differed  from  him,  with  the  steadfast 
knowledge  that  his  thoughts  and  opinions  had 
been  moulded  from  no  contact  with  other  minds, 
but  attained  with  pain  and  weariness  of  spirit, 
built  up  from  his  inner  consciousness,  the  re 
sult  of  thought  and  experience,  not  of  the  study 
of  other  men's  minds  and  actions. 

As  Galbraith  continued  to  question  her,  she 
answered  clearly  all  that  he  said,  while  her 
mind,  with  a  dual  consciousness,  carried  on  its 
separate  train  of  thought.  She  realized  that  if 
Maurice  Galbraith  were  not  himself  convinced  of 
Graham's  innocence,  his  efforts  to  disprove  Hor- 
ton's  accusation  would  be  half-hearted,  perfunc 
tory,  and  without  the  moral  weight  of  honest 
conviction.  If  he  were  to  learn  the  true  reason 
of  the  breach  between  Graham  and  herself,  he 
must  know  it  immediately,  —  that  very  night. 
That  her  confession  would  clear  the  man  she 
loved  from  every  suspicion  she  never  doubted, 
and  yet  —  she  did  not  speak.  It  was  so  hard  to 
tell  the  story  of  her  broken  life  ;  she  was  not 
strong  enough.  To  any  other  it  would  have 
been  easier  to  bare  her  secret  than  to  this 
man  who  reverenced  her,  who  had  told  her, 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  333 

with  look   and  deed   and  tender  thought,  that 
he  loved  her. 

Barbara,  weary  of  waiting  till  the  long  con 
versation  should  come  to  an  end,  had  taken  her 
place  at  the  piano  in  the  adjoining  room  ;  and 
after  playing  for  some  time  she  struck  the 
chords  of  a  song  full  of  tender  associations  to 
Millicent.  A  wild,  passionate  melody  of  Rubin 
stein,  full  of  love  and  hope  and  youth.  Millicent 
had  Sung  it  on  that  night  when  Graham  had 
found  her  waiting  for  him  in  the  firelight,  with 
his  name  upon  her  lips,  though  they  were  still 
strangers.  She  had  sung  it  then  with  an  inten 
sity  which  had  brought  the  grave  artist  close  to 
her  side,  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  song,  of  ad 
miration  for  the  singer.  She  remembered  how 
he  had  thanked  her  silently  with  a  look,  while 
the  others,  whose  presence  she  had  forgotten, 
had  been  full  of  warm  praises.  A  mist  of  tears 
rose  to  her  eyes  and  gathered  itself  into  crys 
tal  drops  of  pain.  Moved  by  the  flood  of  memo 
ries  which  rushed  about  her  with  the  tumultuous 
waves  of  sound,  she  rose,  her  pride  swept  away, 
her  love  triumphant ;  and,  with  a  brow  peace 
ful  with  its  victory,  she  spoke.  She  told  them 
all  her  sad  story  ;  while  Barbara,  summoned  to 
her  side,  wept  softly  at  the  piteous  tale,  and 
Galbraith,  strong  man  that  he  was,  trembled 
with  emotion  at  the  words  of  passionate  grief. 


334  SAN    ROSAR10  EANCH. 

Without  reserve  was  the  revelation  made  ;  the 
tragedy  of  her  young  life,  her  meeting  with  Gra 
ham,  her  love  for  him,  and  the  deceit  to  which 
it  led, —  all  were  told.  No  word  of  anger  had 
she  for  the  false  friend  and  dead  lover,  and  no 
thought  of  condemnation  of  Graham's  action. 
He  was  right  ;  he  could  not  have  acted  other 
wise  ;  he  had  been  frank  and  true  and  honest 
with  her ;  and  she  had  deceived  him  !  He  had 
left  the  San  Rosario  Ranch  to  spare  her  the 
pain  of  seeing  him,  and  because  it  was  best  for 
them  both  that  he  should  go.  The  bar  between 
them  was  of  her  forging  ;  the  breach  was  in 
evitable;  it  was  her  fault,  all  her  fault.  His 
thoughts  of  her  had  been  white  as  the  snow, 
— "  and  cold  as  ice,"  muttered  Galbraith,  to 
whom  this  panegyric  of  his  rival  was  anything 
but  gratifying.  At  last  she  was  silent ;  all  her 
story  was  finished.  She  had  spoken  standing, 
her  expressive  gestures  and  changeful  face  hav 
ing  done  more  than  half  the  telling.  She  had 
begun  quietly  and  with  downcast  eyes  and  pale 
cheek  ;  now  neck  and  brow  were  suffused.  She 
was  pleading  the  cause  of  the  man  she  loved  with 
all  the  .eloquence  of  youth  and  beauty.  She 
now  stood  silent,  looking  eagerly  from  Barbara's 
tear-stained  face  to  Galbraith's  pale,  set  counte 
nance,  to  read  there  the  acquittal  of  the  man  they 
had  suspected  of  baseness  and  cruelty  to  her. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  335 

Barbara  put  her  arm  about  the  tall  girl,  and 
caressed  her  tenderly,  holding  the  glorious  head, 
with  its  tangled  crown  of  hair,  close  to  her 
womanly  heart,  weeping  tears  gentle  as  summer 
dew.  Maurice  Galbraith  reverently  lifted  to  his 
lips  one  long  tress  which  flowed  over  her  shoul 
der  ;  and  then,  leading  Millicent  from  the  apart 
ment,  he  turned  to  Barbara. 

"  You  understood  it  all  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  ask  you  to  think  of  that  thing  which  is 
most  sacred  to  you  in  all  the  world.  By  that 
holy  thought,  swear  to  me  that  no  word  of  what 
has  been  said  here  to-night  shall  ever  pass  your 
lips  ;  that  you  will  not  dare  to  think  of  it  even, 
when  you  are  not  alone,  lest  your  face  betray 
you." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her ;  and  with  wide 
eyes  and  trembling  voice,  Barbara  gave  the  prom 
ise  he  asked,  laying  her  cold  palm  in  his  hot  grasp. 
To  guard  the  secret  of  the  woman  they  both 
loved,  this  loyal  man  and  honest  woman  bound 
themselves  by  a  most  solemn  oath.  To  each, 
the  other  was  nothing  but  an  ally  in  this  cause. 
Their  own  personalities  were  lost  in  the  strong 
affection  for  Millicent  ;  they  would  love  her  and 
protect  her  always.  As  they  stood  thus,  Milli 
cent,  passing  up  the  stairway,  saw  them  through 
the  open  door.  She  saw  and  understood  their 


336  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

compact.  She  saw,  as  they  did  not,  into  the 
future  ;  and  from  her  heart  rose  an  unselfish 
prayer,  that  the  secret  of  her  great  misery 
might  be  the  first  link  in  a  chain  that  should 
bind  these  two  together  for  life. 

Millicent  Almsford  had  pleaded  that  night 
for  the  man  she  loved  ;  she  had  cleared  him  in 
the  eyes  of  two  persons  whose  opinions  would 
sway  those  of  all  who  knew  anything  of  his  re 
lation  to  her.  She  had  done  more:  she  had 
made  for  herself  a  friend  of  a  discouraged  lover, 
a  champion  who  would  fight  her  battles  to  the 
death  ;  and  she  had  bound  a  gentle,  loving  wo 
man's  heart  to  her  own  by  an  indissoluble  tie. 
She  had  striven  only  to  exonerate  John  Graham  ; 
and  she  had  made  Maurice  Galbraith  glad  that 
he  loved  her,  though  hopelessly  and  passionately  ; 
she  had  filled  Barbara  Deering  with  the  deepest 
sentiment  which  woman  can  hold  for  sister 
woman,  —  a  compassionate  love. 

Though  wearied  by  his  long  ride  and  the  ex 
citing  events  of  the  day,  Maurice  Galbraith  slept 
little  that  night,  and  the  morning  found  him 
pale  and  restless.  He  had  a  hard  day's  work 
before  him,  and  perhaps  the  most  trying  part 
of  it  was  the  first  duty  he  had  set  himself  to 
perform.  He  felt  that  he  owed  John  Graham 
an  apology  for  the  suspicion  which  he  had  enter 
tained  against  him,  and  which  in  that  moment 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  337 

of  excitement  he  had  made  no  effort  to  conceal. 
Had  not  the  young  lawyer  been  deeply  in  love 
with  Millicent,  and  consequently  extremely  jeal 
ous  of  Graham,  it  is  hardly  possible  that  he 
could  for  an  instant  have  believed  the  prepos 
terous  charge  made  against  the  artist.  But  as 
Love  is  blind,  and  Jealousy  is  deaf  to  reason,  it 
is  not  strange  that,  unprepared  as  he  was  for 
Horton's  accusation,  he  should  have  believed  that 
it  might  have  some  truth.  Millicent's  revelation, 
and  the  calmer  reflection  which  had  followed 
the  interview  with  her,  proved  to  him  how 
greatly  his  judgment  had  been  at  fault.  Fer 
vently  as  he  disliked  Graham,  he  had  always 
respected  him  ;  and  to  his  generous  mind,  the 
injustice  he  had  done  his  rival  was  abhorrent. 
He  found  the  artist  at  the  inn,  where  they  had 
parted  the  previous  night.  Graham  received 
the  lawyer  with  a  cold  formality  :  the  latter  did 
not  fail  to  observe  the  nervous  clinching  of 
the  artist's  hands  as  he  entered  the  room.  The 
fierce  natural  instinct  of  redressing  an  insult 
by  a  personal  chastisement  moved  the  refined 
man.  Poet-artist  as  he  was,  he  would  rather, 
a  thousand  times,  have  grappled  with  Galbraith 
in  a  fierce  struggle,  than  have  been  forced  to 
receive  and  accept  his  apology.  Maurice  Gal 
braith,  had  he  yielded  to  the  impulse  which 
shook  his  determination,,  would  have  spoken 


338  SAN  ROSARW  RANCH. 

words  which  might  have  justified  such  an  action 
on  Graham's  part.  The  men  looked  angrily  at 
each  other  for  a  moment.  Maurice  Galbraith's 
words  of  apology  would  not  utter  themselves, 
and  seemed  like  to  choke  him.  He  saw  that 
clinching  of  the  hand,  and  his  brow  reddened  as 
he  stepped  forward  as  if  to  strike  the  man  who 
had  so  easily  won,  and  who  so  lightly  valued,  the 
love  of  Millicent  Almsford. 

In  a  land  where  a  lower  code  of  ethics  and 
of  honor  exists,  the  insult  each  burned  to  cast 
upon  the  other  would  have  been  uttered ;  and 
the  result  would  have  been  a  so-called  "  affair 
of  honor,"  in  which  both  men  would  have  run 
the  risk  of  bringing  blood-guiltiness  upon  their 
souls,  and  the  stigma  of  murder  upon  their 
honorable  names.  The  struggle  in  Galbraith's 
breast  was  short,  and  human  intelligence  tri 
umphed  over  brute  instinct.  His  few  words 
of  apology  were  spoken  with  cold  courtesy,  and 
accepted  with  quiet  dignity.  The  men  did  not 
shake  hands  ;  each  understood  the  position  too 
clearly  for  that.  They  could  never  be  friends  ; 
•  ut,  as  they  were  honorable  gentlemen,  all  enmity 
was  at  end  between  them,  for  rivalry  does  not 
necessarily  entail  hatred.  Then  they  spoke  of 
the  trial,  and  their  conversation  lasted  until  the 
hour  of  the  opening  of  the  court. 

Millicent,  escorted  by  Henry  Deering,  arrived 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  339 

at  the  court  just  as  Graham  and  Galbraith 
entered  the  room  together.  She  saw  Graham 
whisper  something  to  the  lawyer,  who  bowed 
courteously  in  answer.  The  significance  of  the 
action  was  not  lost  upon  her,  —  her  revelation 
had  not  been  made  in  vain.  She  now  heard  her 
name  called  in  a  loud,  harsh  voice.  She  started 
violently,  but  did  not  stir  from  her  seat. 

"  Come,"  said  Hal,  "  you  must  go  up  to  that 
little  platform  and  answer  all  the  questions  they 
ask  you." 

She  walked  quietly  to  the  place  indicated, 
took  the  customary  oath  "to  speak  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,"  and 
answered  the  preliminary  questions  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Millicent  Almsford." 

"  Where  were  you  born  ?  " 

"  In  Venice." 

"  What  state  ?  " 

"  In  Italy." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  One  and  twenty." 

"  You  were  present  at  the  killing  of  Ah  Lam, 
at  Carey's  Bridge  ?  " 

"  I  was." 

"Tell  the  court  all  that  you  saw  on  that  occa 
sion."  Galbraith  was  the  speaker.  He  knew 


340  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

that  Millicent's  natural  eloquence  would  give 
the  story  with  more  force  if  she  were  allowed 
to  tell  it  in  her  own  way  without  the  usual 
questioning. 

She  began  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground  before  her.  As  the  memory 
of  that  dreadful  day  came  back  to  her,  she 
seemed  to  see  it  all  again,  —  the  peaceful  wood 
land  scene,  the  quiet  river,  the  forest  road,  and 
at  her  side  her  humble  friend  and  pupil.  The 
walls  of  the  court-room  faded  from  before  her, 
and  judge  and  jury,  lawyer  and  audience,  were 
forgotten ;  she  looked  at  Graham  only,  and 
spoke  to  him  alone  ;  his  grave  eyes  met  hers, 
and  the  sympathy  in  them  made  the  task  of 
telling  her  story  an  easy  one.  Aiding  her  re 
cital  with  expressive  gestures,  she  told  of  the 
appearance  of  Daniel  Horton  on  the  peace 
ful  scene ;  she  repeated  his  insolent  words, 
unconsciously  imitating  the  man's  manner  and 
voice  ;  she  described  the  affront  offered  to  herself 
with  burning  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes  ;  her 
voice  grew  tremulous  and  low  when  she  spoke 
of  the  dead  servant's  efforts  to  save  her  from 
the  insolent  ruffian  ;  when  with  a  deep,  horrified 
voice  she  told  of  the  murder  and  death  of  Ah 
Lam,  it  was  as  if  she  were  describing  a  scene 
still  enacting  itself  before  her  eyes.  A  strong 
impression  was  made  by  the  girl's  words  on  all 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  341 

her  hearers.  The  noisy  court-room  had  grown 
perfectly  still ;  the  very  recorders  held  their 
pens  useless  in  their  hands  ;  and  the  eyes  of 
the  judge  with  the  pink  cravat  were  riveted  on 
her  face.  As  she  ceased  speaking,  a  sympa 
thetic  tremor  ran  through  the  crowd  assem 
bled  in  the  court-room,  and  a  low  murmur  was 
heard. 

Maurice  Galbraith,  usually  the  most  quiet  and 
reserved  of  men,  was  evidently  undergoing  an  un 
usual  excitement,  those  who  knew  him  thought  ; 
and  Pierson,  the  counsel  for  the  defendant, 
seemed  rather  disconcerted  by  the  strong  im 
pression  made  by  the  witness. 

When  Graham  came  upon  the  stand  and  told 
his  story  of  the  night  passed  in  the  shooting- 
lodge,  Millicent  listened  breathlessly.  The  young 
painter  gave  his  evidence  with  a  certain  pictur- 
esqueness,  describing  the  arrival  at  the  cabin 
of  Dan  Horton,  his  demand  for  food  and  shelter, 
his  troubled  sleep,  his  wounded  face,  the  peculiar 
nature  of  the  scratches,  and  finally,  the  finding 
of  Millicent's  handkerchief  after  his  departure 
on  the  following  morning.  An  effort  was  made 
to  disprove  the  evidence,  and  an  alibi  was  sworn 
to  by  two  new-found  friends  of  the  prisoner, 
who  claimed  to  have  passed  that  night  in  his 
company.  These  witnesses,  carefully  prepared 
by  Pierson,  gave  their  evidence  with  few  blun- 


342  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

ders ;  and  Dan  Horton,  closely  following  every 
word  of  the  defence,  gave  a  satisfied  smile  at 
the  new  turn  which  the  skilfully  devised  alibi 
seemed  likely  to  give  to  affairs. 

Pierson's  aim  was  to  disprove  Horton's  iden 
tity  with  the  man  who  had  killed  Ah  Lam  and 
had  afterwards  seen  Graham.  He  endeavored 
to  show  that  there  were  two  men  engaged  in  the 
affair,  —  Horton,  who  had  spoken  to  Miss  Alms- 
ford,  and  his  confederate,  who,  it  was  argued, 
must  have  committed  the  crime.  When  Milli- 
cent  had  told  of  the  wounds  inflicted  by  the 
Chinaman  on  the  cheeks  of  his  murderer,  it 
was  shown  that  Horton's  face  bore  no  trace  of 
these  scratches.  It  was  argued,  in  reply  to  this, 
that  in  a  man  of  Horton's  vigorous  temperament 
such  wounds  might  easily  be  healed  in  as  short 
time  as  had  elapsed  between  the  murder  and  the 
trial.  At  this  point  Galbraith  had  a  trump  card 
to  play,  the  existence  of  which  neither  prisoner 
nor  counsel  had  suspected.  Neither  had  it  been 
learned  by  the  omniscient  reporter,  through 
whose  instrumentality  evidence  is  too  often  pre 
maturely  made  public,  cases  are  lost,  and  offend 
ers  are  enabled  to  escape  apprehension. 

"  I  would  inform  your  Honor  that  I  have 
other  proof  of  the  identity  of  the  prisoner  with 
the  man  who  passed  the  night  following  the 
murder  in  the  shdbting  lodge." 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  343 

A  new  witness,  by  name  John  Du  Jardin,  by 
profession  a  wood-cutter,  was  called  to  the  stand. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  the  prisoner  before  ?  " 

"  Yes,  before  wonce,"  answered  the  old  French 
man. 

"When  was  that?" 

"  The  night  after  murder." 

"  Where  did  you  see  him  ? " 

"  At  the  little  'unting  'ouse  of  M.  Graham." 

"  What  were  you  doing  at  the  lodge  ?  " 

Graham  looked  at  his  henchman  with  a  per 
plexed  expression,  and  smiled  slightly  at  the 
answer. 

"  I  were  not  in  the  cabin,  I  were  by  the  win 
dow,  lookinV 

"  Oh,  you  were  looking  in  at  the  window  ;  and 
what  did  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see  monsieur,  'e  sleepin*.  I  see  dat  man," 
pointing  to  the  prisoner ;  "  'e  come,  and  mon 
sieur  give  'im  to  drink  and  to  eat." 

"  What  else  did  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see  cet  homme,  dat  man  lay  'imself  prh 
side  by  the  feu.  Presentlee  'e  sleep,  monsieur 
'e  mark  'im  ;  fe  take  faggot  from  fire,  'e  make 
point,  'e  draw  one  picture  of  'im." 

Here  Pierson  asked  the  witness  what  he  was 
doing  outside  the  lodge  in  the  middle  of  the 
night. 

"  I  was  watch  monsieur." 


344  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

"  That  seems  very  strange.  Why  did  you 
want  to  watch  him  ?  " 

"'E  'as  not  slept  the  night ;  'e  'as  nothing  eat 
the  day  ;  I  fear  'im  malade.  I  follow  him." 

Galbraith  continued  his  examination,  and  elic 
ited  from  the  witness  the  admission  that  he  had 
remained  outside  the  cabin  that  night,  concealed 
in  the  bushes,  and  had  only  left  it  after  Horton 
had  taken  his  departure.  He  had  then  started 
to  return,  but  after  he  had  gone  a  mile  he  re 
traced  his  steps  with  the  intention  of  cooking  for 
his  master's  breakfast  a  brace  of  quail  he  had 
shot  on  the  way.  He  found  the  cabin  empty, 
and  on  the  wall  the  portrait  which  he  had  seen 
sketched.  It  was  where  it  would  have  been 
easily  effaced,  and  so  he  had  loosened  the  board 
on  which  the  drawing  was  made,  and  carried  it 
to  his  house. 

Graham  was  now  recalled  and  questioned. 

"  Mr.  Graham,  you  have  told  ,the  court  that 
you  are  an  artist  by  profession.  Is  it  your  habit 
to  make  drawings  of  persons  of  a  striking  ap 
pearance  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  habit  of  sketching  any  remark 
able-looking  people  whom  I  happen  to  meet." 

"On  the  night  in  question,  were  you  impressed 
by  anything  uncommon  in  the  appearance  of  the 
man  who  slept  by  the  fire  in  the  lodge  ?" 

"  I  was." 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  345 

"  Did  you  make  any  notes  of  the  impression 
made  on  you  by  the  man  ? " 

"  I  did.  I  sketched  him  as  he  crouched  in  the 
ashes  of  the  fire." 

"  What  materials  did  you  use  ?  " 

"  A  charred  piece  of  wood,  and  a  smooth  board 
in  the  side  of  the  cabin." 

"  Would  you  recognize  your  work  if  you 
should  see  it  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"By  what  means?" 

"  I  should  recognize  it  as  you  would  your 
own  handwriting;  besides — " 

"  You  have  other  means  of  knowing  it  ?  " 

"  My  initials  will  be  found  in  the  upper  right- 
hand  corner  of  the  sketch." 

"  Is  this  the  sketch  ?  " 

"  It  is." 

There  was  a  craning  of  necks,  and  a  murmur 
of  recognition  from  those  present  who  could 
obtain  a  glimpse  of  the  strong  drawing  held  up 
by  Maurice  Galbraith.  Graham's  words  in 
answer  to  the  last  question  were  hardly  neces 
sary  to  prove  the  resemblance.  Horton,  sitting 
in  his  chair,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  hands 
clasping  his  knees,  had  ail-unconsciously  assumed 
the  pose  in  which  Graham  had  sketched  him. 
The  resemblance  was  indubitable,  and  the  cheeks 
bore  the  bloody  testimony  of  Ah  Lam's  hands. 


346  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

This  was  evidence  which  there  was  no  break 
ing  down  ;  and  Horton,  when  the  sketch  was  at 
last  turned  so  that  he  could  see  it,  gave  an  oath 
under  his  breath,  which  was  not  lost  upon  the 
jury.  The  twelve  men  with  whom  lay  the  de 
cision  of  Horton's  guilt  or  innocence  were  for 
the  most  part  tradesmen  and  mechanics,  the 
only  exception  being  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Patrick 
Shallop,  the  mining  king,  who  by  some  strange 
chance  had  been  impanelled  on  this  occasion. 
The  voice  of  such  a  man  would  carry  great 
weight  in  the  decision.  The  pase  was  evidently 
going  against  the  prisoner.  The  evidence  of  the 
prosecution  was  very  damaging,  and  Horton's 
friends  in  the  crowd  were  greatly  discouraged. 

The  trial  occupied  several  hours,  and  ended  in 
the  conviction  of  Daniel  Horton.  Maurice  Gal- 
braith  made  a  speech  which  has  already  be 
come  famous.  He  had  induced  a  Californian 
jury  to  pronounce  a  man  who  had  killed  a  China 
man  guilty  of  voluntary  manslaughter.  He  had 
obtained  this  almost  unprecedented  verdict,  and 
a  full  sentence  from  the  court  of  ten  years'  im 
prisonment.  The  efforts  of  the  defending  coun 
sel  to  turn  the  main  interest  in  the  case  from 
the  chief  feature,  by  endeavoring  to  implicate 
Graham  in  the  attempted  abduction,  were  use 
less.  Horton's  real  confederate  was  found,  and 
the  truth  of  the  matter  arrived  at.  Through 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  347 

the  newspaper  accounts  of  Millicent,  published 
at  the  time  of  her  rescue  of  Graham,  these  men 
had  learned  that  she  was  a  rich  heiress,  and  had 
conceived  the  bold  idea  of  carrying  her  off  in 
order  to  extort  a  large  sum  of  money  for  her 
ransom. 

The  flimsy  tissue  of  lies  which  Pierson  had 
woven  was  quickly  unravelled  by  Galbraith. 
The  fact  that  the  jury  had  for  a  time  been  mis 
led  by  the  false  evidence,  made  their  verdict 
more  immediately  unanimous  than  it  might  other 
wise  have  been  ;  and  the  cloud  which  had  for  a 
moment  overhung  John  Graham  was  dispelled 
as  quickly  as  a  noxious  vapor  is  blown  away  by 
a  brisk  westerly  wind.  He  was  cleared  of  every 
suspicion.  Galbraith  had  surpassed  himself  in 
his  management  of  the  case,  even  in  the  eyes  of 
his  warmest  friends.  Had  he  not  been  working 
for  the  woman  he  loved  ?  In  exonerating  his 
rival,  he  had  done  the  only  thing  that  in  him  lay 
to  win  Millicent's  gratitude.  She  had  thanked 
him,  and  blessed  him  for  his  eloquence  with  tears 
and  smiles.  He  had  gained  her  friendship  ;  and 
does  not  friendship  soften  into  love  more  often 
than  love  crystallizes  into  friendship  ? 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

"  Je  me  dis  seulement ;  a  cette  heure  en  ce  lieu, 
Un  jour,  je  fus  aime,  j'aimais,  elle  etait  belle. 
J'enfouis  ce  tresor  dans  mon  ame  immortelle. 
Et  je  1'emporte  a  Dieu  !  " 

"  A  LETTER   for  you,  Mr.  Graham." 

"  Very  well  ;  lay  it  down." 

The  burly  landlady  placed  the  missive  on  the 
small,  unpainted  pine  table  which  stood  near 
the  artist's  easel,  and  with  a  last  glance  at  the 
feminine  superscription,  and  the  device  of  the 
golden  Psyche  which  sealed  it,  left  the  room. 
It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  —  there  would  be 
only  an  hour  more  of  light  in  which  he  could 
paint.  Graham  did  not  glance  at  the  letter. 
If  it  had  been  a  telegram  it  would  have  waited 
till  the  tender  gray  of  the  sky  had  been  laid  on 
the  canvas.  At  last  it  grew  too  dim  for  him  to 
distinguish  the  tints  on  his  palette,  and,  throw 
ing  down  his  brushes,  the  young  man  rose  and 
stretched  his  cramped  limbs.  He  had  not  moved 
from  his  stool  for  four  hours.  As  he  paced  up 
and  down  his  narrow  room,  the  letter  caught 
his  eye.  He  had  quite  forgotten  its  existence. 


SAN  ROSARIO*  EANCH.  349 

It  was  from  Millicent.  He  stepped  close  to 
the  window,  and  by  the  waning  light  perused 
the  words  traced  by  a  hand  that  surely  had 
trembled  in  the  writing.  Twice  he  read  it 
through,  as  if  not  understanding  its  import. 
Then,  with  a  groan,  he  cast  the  letter  upon  the 
floor,  and  sank  upon  a  low  seat  near  by.  His 
head  supported  by  his  hands,  his  elbows  upon 
his  knees,  he  sat,  the  picture  of  despair.  With 
a  sudden  movement  he  grasped  the  missive  and 
crushed  it  between  his  two  hands,  as  if  to  avenge 
upon  the  senseless  paper  the  pain  which  it 
brought  to  him. 

He  could  not  bear  it  in  the  cold,  dark  room  ; 
the  streets  would  be  full  of  people  who  might 
divert  him.  He  soon  found  himself  in  a  crowded 
thoroughfare.  It  was  six  o'clock,  and  the  city 
was  full  of  hurrying  men,  women,  and  children 
returning  homeward  after  the  long  day's  work. 
The  girl  from  the  millinery  establishment  under 
his  room,  whose  sweet,  childish  face  he  had 
painted  from  memory  the  very  day  before,  was 
just  leaving  the  shop  as  he  stepped  into  the 
street.  She  was  very  poorly  dressed,  with  a 
hat  which  would  have  disgraced  anybody  but 
a  milliner's  apprentice.  Her  dress  fitted  neatly, 
however,  and  she  gave  her  close-cut  jacket  a 
tug  to  make  it  smooth  about  the  shoulders  be 
fore  she  reached  the  corner.  A  tall,  pale,  dys- 


350  SAN  EOSAEIO  RANCH. 

peptic-looking  youth  joined  her  just  outside  the 
druggist's.  Graham  recognized  him  as  the 
clerk  in  a  dry-goods  shop  near  by.  Their 
greeting  he  could  not  but  overhear. 

"I  am  late,  George  —  " 

"  Twenty  minutes  ;  I  almost  gave  you  up,"  in 
a  surly  tone. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  ;  don't  be  angry."  The  man 
hesitated  a  moment ;  then  her  pleading  voice 
got  the  better  of  his  ill-temper,  and,  taking  her 
by  the  arm  after  the  fashion  of  his  kind,  he  led 
her  across  the  street,  and  in  a  moment  they 
were  lost  to  Graham's  sight.  He  next  stopped 
at  the  cobbler's  around  the  corner  to  call  for  a 
pair  of  boots  which  had  needed  repairing.  The 
narrow  stall  was  brightly  lighted,  and  he  saw 
through  the  window  a  little  child  holding  up 
its  face  to  be  kissed.  The  cobbler's  girl  had 
just  brought  her  father  his  supper.  As  Gra 
ham  entered,  the  man  pushed  the  little  figure 
gently  into  the  street.  "Tell  mother  I'll  not 
be  late,"  he  said ;  and  wiping  his  blackened 
hands  upon  his  dirty  ticking  apron,  he  greeted 
the  artist  civilly,  and  proceeded  to  find  his  boots 
for  him. 

"They  need  re-soling,  Mr.  Graham,  but  I  did 
not  like  to  do  the  job  without  orders.  The 
patches  are  all  right." 

Graham  paid  the  man  for  his  work,  and  went 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  351 

out.  He  had  thought  to  find  distraction  in  the 
street,  but  what  he  saw  there  only  made  him 
more  desolate.  He  was  alone,  while  all  other 
men  had  some  loving  soul  to  greet  them  after 
their  day's  toil.  The  pair  of  lovers,  the  cobbler 
and  his  child,  made  him  feel  his  loneliness  more 
acutely,  and  emphasized  painfully  the  news  which 
the  letter  had  brought  to  him,  —  Millicent  was 
gone ! 

She  had  passed  as  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
out  of  his  life  as  she  had  entered  it.  He  had 
not  seen  her  since  that  day  in  the  court-room. 
And  now  she  was  gone,  back  to  the  Old  World, 
to  Venice  the  mysterious,  the  silent,  to  the  old 
Palazzo  Fortunio,  with  its  lofty  halls  and  marble 
corridors,  back  to  the  old  home,  which  he  knew 
could  never  be  home  to  her  again.  All  the 
color  seemed  to  have  faded  out  of  his  life  ;  she 
had  taken  it  with  her.  He  suffered  deeply,  im 
patiently,  angry  at  himself  for  suffering,  yet 
powerless  to  forget  the  pain  which  the  letter 
had  given  him.  He  picked  it  up  again  from 
the  floor  when  he  came  back  to  the  lonely  stu 
dio,  and  marked  that  though  the  letter  was 
crushed  and  torn,  the  device  of  the  golden 
Psyche  was  still  intact. 

On  the  following  day  he  found  some  conso 
lation  in  his  picture.  He  came  back  to  it  after 
his  vigil  with  an  uncherished  grief,  with  less 


352  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

enthusiasm  than  before ;  but  from  that  hour 
until  he  had  laid  the  last  stroke  of  paint  on  the 
canvas,  his  hand  faltered  not,  if  his  imagination 
sometimes  flagged.  He  could  not  serve  both 
love  and  art.  He  had  chosen  his  mistress,  and 
would  be  faithful  to  his  choice.  He  dared  not 
think,  while  he  painted,  of  the  woman  whose 
influence  had  so  warmed  his  frozen  existence. 
To  do  so  seemed  an  infidelity  to  his  Art,  —  a 
breach  of  faith  which  would  not  escape  its 
merited  punishment.  So  he  resolutely  put  her 
from  his  mind,  and  labored  day  and  night  upon 
his  great  picture. 

Summer  and  autumn  were  past,  and  the  first 
month  of  winter  was  drawing  to  its  close,  when 
Graham  finished  his  picture.  He  had  painted 
it  as  he  always  did  his  best  works,  without  in 
terruption.  From  the  morning  on  which  he 
had  made  the  first  rough  chalk  sketch,  until  the 
day  when  he  reluctantly  drew  the  fine  veil  of 
varnish  over  his  work,  he  had  hardly  looked  at 
any  other  canvas.  He  was  not  satisfied  with  it,  — 
what  true  artist  ever  is  satisfied  with  his  work  ? 
—  and  yet  he  was  convinced  that  it  was  the  best 
he  had  yet  accomplished.  He  had  sometimes 
realized  what  he  had  sacrificed  for  this  picture ; 
and  as  he  touched  in  the  crimson  line  of  sunset, 
the  fancy  came  to  him,  that  the  sky  was  stained 
with  heart' s-blood. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  353 

His  few  brother  artists  —  there  was  but  a 
handful  of  them  in  the  city — and  his  pupils  re 
quested  him  to  set  a  day  for  them  to  see  the 
new  picture,  and  Graham  had  consented.  The 
young  sculptor,  who  had  the  next  room,  threw 
open  the  door  which  separated  the  two  studios, 
and  both  rooms  were  in  holiday  trim.  Northcote 
had  been  in  the  country  all  the  previous  day, 
gathering  flowers  and  ferns  with  which  to  deck 
the  bare  apartment.  He  placed  a  jar  of  roses 
before  the  picture  with  a  reverent  face ;  he  loved 
the  artist  whose  light  purse  had  for  the  last 
two  years  kept  a  roof  over  his  head  and  life  in 
his  body. 

Graham  was  greatly  admired  by  the  knot  of 
artists  who  lived,  or  starved,  in  San  Francisco. 
They  were  the  pioneers  of  art  in  the  new 
Western  land ;  and  their  work,  if  crude  and  un 
tutored,  was  not  wanting  in  certain  strong  quali 
ties.  Several  of  them  were  men  of  promise ;  and 
they  were  all  wise  enough  to  feel  that  in  Gra 
ham's  genius  lay  the  brightest  hope  for  a  new 
school  of  art  which  should  combine  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  Old  World  with  the  fresh  vigor  and 
hope  of  the  New.  They  looked  up  to  him  as  a 
leader,  and  he  earnestly  wrought  and  thought 
for  their  advancement.  It  was  for  this  that  he 
had  left  Europe  and  his  many  agreeable  associ 
ates  there,  and  returned  to  his  own  country, 
23 


354  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

that  whatever  power  for  good  there  in  him  lay 
should  redound  to  her  glory.  His  fellow  artists 
all  revered  him,  and  they  would  gladly  have 
loved  him ;  but  the  sensitive  man  shrank  from 
that  familiarity  which  popularity  entails.  In 
their  work  he  was  always  interested ;  and  in 
whatever  touched  the  art  they  all  served,  he  was 
active  and  ready  to  labor  endlessly  without  recom 
pense  or  recognition.  But  in  their  lives  and  per 
sonalities  he  felt  no  wish  to  mix  ;  and  so  it  was 
that  he  who  labored  most  for  them  as  an  artist 
was  farthest  removed  from  them  as  a  man. 

There  was  but  one  verdict  rendered  by  the 
men  who  stood  grouped  about  the  easel.  It  was 
a  masterly  picture,  they  all  said.  For  an  hour 
or  more,  one  or  another  of  them  discussed  cer 
tain  technical  points  with  Graham,  who  with 
kindled  face  listened  and  talked  with  his  associ 
ates,  more  himself  than  he  had  been  since  the 
night  when  he  had  first  dreamed  of  the  pic 
ture.  The  young  sculptor  was  less  loud  in  his 
praise  than  were  the  others  ;  in  his  eyes  the 
classic  subject  was  a  trifle  labored  and  cold. 
After  having  praised,  the  men  felt  at  liberty 
to  criticise ;  and  if  Graham  had  followed  one 
half  the  advice  offered  to  him,  there  would 
have  been  little  suggestion  of  the  original  pic 
ture  left. 

Standing  in  a  corner,  with  its  face  to  the  wall, 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  355 

was  a  panel  which,  as  the  little  circle  was 
about  to  break  up,  Northcote  asked  Graham's' 
permission  to  show.  The  new  picture  was  taken 
from  the  easel,  and  the  neglected  canvas  put  in 
its  place.  Its  surface  was  dusty,  and  the  young 
man  wiped  it  with  his  silk  handkerchief.  There 
was  a  minute's  silence,  broken  by  the  oldest  of 
the  party,  a  disappointed  painter  whose  life  had 
been  one  long  series  of  calamities. 

"  My  boy,  this  is  worth  a  dozen  of  the  other. 
It  is  the  biggest  thing  you  have  done  yet." 

The  younger  men  all  chimed  in,  echoing  the 
opinion  of  their  senior.  Graham  looked  incredu 
lously  from  one  to  the  other ;  there  was  no 
doubting  their  sincerity.  Like  many  another 
before  him,  he  knew  not  how  to  distinguish  his 
successes  from  his  failures.  The  old  artist,  who 
had  all  his  life  been  on  the  eve  of  painting  his 
great  picture,  underrated  the  value  of  the  new 
picture,  but  he  was  not  mistaken  in  placing 
The  Lovers  far  above  it.  Graham  looked  at 
it  for  the  first  time  in  many  weeks,  with  that 
impersonal  criticism  of  his  own  work  which  is 
only  possible  to  an  artist  when  a  certain  period 
has  elapsed  after  its  creation,  and  the  mind  has 
been  occupied  with  other  interests, 

It  was  late  that  night  when  the  artist  returned 
to  his  room,  after  dining  with  his  sculptor  friend 
at  a  restaurant  near  by.  The  moonlight  flooded 


356  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

the  studio,  lighting  its  farthest  corner.  It 
showed  him  the  vases  of  rose-bloom  and  the 
dark-browed  Circe  on  the  wall ;  it  showed  him 
the  blackened  hearth,  where  the  embers  still 
smouldered.  And  what  was  that  in  the  fire 
place  ?  A  charred  wooden  frame  with  a  heap  of 
ashes  lying  'twixt  its  sides.  Graham  sprang 
forward  with  a  cry  of  apprehension,  and  lifted  - 
the  blistered  frame.  His  fear  had  not  been 
groundless :  this  bit  of  wood  and  that  handful 
of  cinders  were  all  that  remained  of  his  great 
new  picture !  He  gave  a  deep  groan  and  stag 
gered  back  against  the  wall.  Before  him,  on  the 
easel,  gleaming  through  the  pure  silver  light,  was 
the  picture  of  The  Lovers.  Millicent's  dreamy 
face,  radiant  with  hope  and  love,  smiled  at  him  , 
from  the  arms  of  the  lover  who  now  stood, 
half  crazed  with  grief,  gazing  at  the  ruin  before 
him. 

The  young  sculptor  stood  beside  him,  full  of 
a  sympathy  he  knew  not  how  to  express.  At 
last  he  spoke :  — 

"  Graham,  look  up,  and  do  not  grieve  for  what 
is  past  help.  I  tell  you,  man,  that  your  great 
est  picture  stands  before  you.  The  Lovers  has 
the  one  quality  which  your  work  has  heretofore 
missed.  It  is  human,  it  is  full  of  natural  senti 
ment.  It  does  not  appeal  to  an  aristocracy  of 
thought,  but  to  all  men  and  all  women,  learned  and 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  357 

untaught.  I  know  not  what  influence  swayed 
you  in  this  picture,  but  I  know  that  it  lifted  you 
to  a  higher  plane  than  you  had  before  attained. 
I  care  not  for  the  loss  of  your  Poet  ;  it  told  me 
nothing  of  you  that  I  did  not  know  before  ;  it 
was  a  step  backwards  to  the  time  when  you 
made  that  wondrous  wicked  Circe  with  her  herd 
of  swine.  Let  it  go,  and  submit  to  the  influence 
which  inspired  this  picture,  for  which  the  world 
is  richer  to-day  than  for  a  score  of  such  works 
as  the  other." 

Graham  looked  at  the  speaker  with  doubting 
eyes.  The  words  seemed  to  rouse  an  echo  in 
his  soul.  They  told  him  that  he  had  served  the 
altar  of  Art  with  Moloch  sacrifices.  Instead  of 
the  peaceful  offerings  of  love,  he  had  brought 
the  anguish  of  two  strong  hearts  to  desecrate 
her  temple.  A  dim  perception  of  the  truth 
entered  his  mind,  and  his  grief  for  the  lost 
picture  was  for  a  moment  forgotten  in  a  doubt 
which  rose  before  him,  never  to  be  dismissed 
again  until  it  was  fully  solved.  A  doubt  of  self, 
of  his  own  judgment,  of  his  own  inflexible  will. 

Millicent  was  gone  !  The  six  straight  red 
woods  whispered  the  news  one  to  another,  and 
shook  their  tall  tops  sadly,  while  the  sweet  south 
wind  sighed  through  their  branches.  Millicent 
was  gone !  and  the  roses  that  clasped  and  clung 


358  SAN  EOS  A  RIO  RANCH. 

about  her  lattice  died  on  the  night  she  left  them, 
and  the  vine  bloomed  no  more,  and  bore  for  that 
season  nothing  but  leaves.  Millicent  was  gone  ! 
She  had  set  wide  the  door  of  the  golden  prison 
where  her  love-birds  had  lived  and  sung  so  mer 
rily  through  the  long  summer.  But  the  little 
white  creatures,  prison-born,  prison-bred,  were 
too  timid  to  venture  out  into  the  roomy  forest, 
and  had  clung  to  the  only  home  they  had  ever 
known ;  and  so  Barbara,  gentle,  sweet-souled 
Barbara,  took  them  into  her  sunny  room  ;  and 
cared  for  them  as  Millicent  had  done.  For  a 
day  they  were  silent,  and  then  they  sang  as 
merrily  as  before.  There  was  still  sunshine  ;  and 
crispy  groundsel  and  clear  cool  water  were  given 
them  by  hands  as  gentle,  if  not  so  fair,  as  those 
which  had  tended  them  before. 

The  New  Year  was  at  hand,  and  the  chate 
laine  of  the  San  Rosario  Ranch  had  summoned 
a  group  of  friends  to  her  hospitable  home  to 
pass  the  holiday  time.  So  Barbara  was  full  of 
household  cares,  and  Hal  was  busy  with  shoot 
ing  and  riding  expeditions.  Ferrara  was  there, 
just  back  from  Alaska,  with  a  tribute  of  rare 
furs  to  lay  at  Barbara's  pretty  feet.  Maurice 
Galbraith  and  John  Graham  were  missing,  and 
that  other  whose  absence  was  still  keenly  felt. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shallop,  O'Neil,  and  Hartley 
were  come,  with  a  half  dozen  other  old  friends, 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  359 

all  bound  together  by  the  magnetic  influence 
which  radiated  from  their  hostess,  in  whom  all 
their  various  interests  were  concentrated.  Each 
was  friend  to  other  for  her  sake,  whom  they  all 
loved.  In  the  existence  of  every  one  of  the 
group  her  pure  and  unselfish  nature  was  a  real 
factor.  When  faith  in  human  nature,  in  one's 
self,  is  faint  and  wavering,  then  is  the  time 
when  the  remembrance  of  such  a  spotless  life, 
so  pure  a  heart,  steadies  the  wavering  belief  in 
truth,  and  strengthens  us  to  fight  the  good 
fight.  By  loving  help  and  by  high  example, 
Marianne  Deering  had  succored  and  befriended 
each  of  the  friends  who  on  that  New  Year's 
eve  assembled  about  her  dining  table.  With  a 
face  bright  with  that  beauty  of  the  soul  which 
knows  not  the  marring  of  time,  she  presided 
over  the  gay  festivity.  Three  pretty  cousins 
from  San  Francisco  added  their  bright  faces  to 
the  charming  scene.  The  apartment  and  the 
board  were  garlanded  with  flowers.  Banks  of 
heavy  ferns  panelled  the  walls,  and  bunches 
of  white,  heavy-scented  magnolias  were  outlined 
against  their  dark  green.  Through  the  open 
windows  were  seen  the  gay  lanterns  hung  about 
the  veranda,  illuminating  the  festoons  of  fresh 
creepers,  and  giving  glimpses  of  the  soft  velvet 
turf  outside.  The  merriment  was  at  its  height 
as  Barbara  lifted  the  loving-cup,  filled  with  a 


360  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

sweet,  strong  wine,  and,  calling  out  the  toast, 
"  To  absent  friends,"  set  her  rosy  lips  to  the 
brim,  and  drank  from  the  cup  in  which  each 
of  the  joyful  company  was  to  pledge  some  dis 
tant  dear  one.  It  was  a  custom  at  the  San 
Rosario  Ranch  which  had  become  time-hon 
ored.  The  girl  smiled  gayly  as  she  passed  the 
crystal  beaker  to  Juan  Ferrara,  who  sat  upon 
her  right ;  but  her  eyes  were  dark  with  unshed 
tears,  and  the  man  sighed  as  he  drank,  omit 
ting  to  repeat  the  toast.  What  were  absent 
friends  to  him  beside  this  woman  who  smiled 
in  his  face,  but  whose  tears  fell  for  one  who 
was  far  from  her  !  Round  went  the  cup  from 
hand  to  hand,  and  to  every  heart  came  a  thrill 
of  joy  or  sorrow  at  the  thought  of  the  absent 
one,  toward  whom  it  turned  in  this  loving  com 
munion.  O'Neil,  sitting  by  his  hostess,  was 
the  last  to  take  the  cup.  The  warm-blooded 
Irishman  was  in  high  spirits.  The  glances  of 
the  dark-eyed  "girling"  at  his  side,  and  the 
general  good-fellowship  of  the  occasion,  had 
brought  out  in  him  the  irrepressible  good-humor 
of  his  nation.  The  ceremony  of  passing  the 
loving-cup,  and  the  invocation  to  absent  friends, 
had  carried  something  a  little  serious  with  it, 
which,  to  the  jolly  Irishman,  was  thoroughly 
antagonistic. 

"  Dear  hostess,"  said  he,  placing  the  cup  be- 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  ^i 

fore  him  on  the  table,  "I  do  not  like  the  sen 
timent  of  your  toast ;  't  is  ungallant.  How  can  I, 
sitting  between  two  such  lovely  ladies,  find  time 
or  power  to  salute  an  absent  one,  howsoever 
fair  ?  May  I  give  you  my  toast  for  the  loving- 
cup  ?  Have  I  your  permission  to  sing  a  stave 
from  one  of  my  national  songs  on  the  subject?" 

He  was  answered  by  a  general  acclamation 
of  assent.  Rising  to  his  feet,  the  blond,  burly 
giant  held  up  the  cup  with  its  low  ebb  of  crim 
son  wine,  and  sang  in  a  clear,  strong  voice  the 
following  couplet :  — 

"  Oh  !  't  is  sweet  to  think  that  where'er  we  rove 

We  are  sure  to  find  something  blissful  and  dear, 
And  that,  when  we  're  far  from  the  lips  that  we  love, 

We  've  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  that  are  near. 
The  heart,  like  a  tendril  accustomed  to  cling, 

Let  it  grow  where  it  will,  cannot  flourish  alone, 
But  will  lean  to  the  nearest  and  loveliest  thing 

It  can  twine  with  itself,  and  make  closely  its  own. 
Then  oh  !  what  pleasure  where'er  we  rove 

To  be  sure  to  find  something  still  that  is  dear ; 
And  to  know,  when  far  from  the  lips  that  we  love, 

We  have  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  that  are  near." 

Amidst  the  general  laughter  and  applause 
which  followed  O'Neil's  song,  Madame  Mari 
anne's  gentle  word  of  disapproval  was  lost. 
The  song  had  restored  the  jollity  which,  for  a 
moment,  seemed  to  have  left  the  party.  O'Neil 
now  drained  the  cup  to  the  last  drop,  turning 
the  crystal  vessel  upside  down  to  show  that  it 


362  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

was  empty,  and  whispered  a  saucy  compliment 
to  the  bright-eyed  girl  beside  him.  At  that 
moment,  when  the  merriment  was  at  its  height, 
when  O'Neil  stood  with  the  empty  cup  in  his 
hand,  the  door  opened,  and,  as  if  in  answer  to 
the  toast,  John  Graham  entered  the  room.  He 
was  greeted  by  a  dozen  voices  as  he  made  his 
way  to  Mrs.  Deering's  side.  Taking  her  out 
stretched  hand  in  his  own,  he  dropped  upon 
one  knee,  and  kissed  it  respectfully. 

"  Dear  my  lady,  I  have  come  to  wish  you  the 
happiest  New  Year,  and  to  join  in  your  loving- 
cup,  in  your  toast  to  absent  friends  —  " 

"Always  welcome,  dear  Graham,"  said  the 
lady,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  head  for  an  in 
stant  ;  "  there  is  always  a  place  for  you  at  our 
table,  but  alas  —  " 

"  You  are  too  late  —  too  late !  " 

It  was  Barbara  who  spoke,  interrupting  her 
mother  brusquely,  her  voice  full  of  a  reproach 
inexplicable  to  all  but  Graham.  He  looked  at 
her  fixedly  for  a  moment,  and  then  O'Neil 
clapped  him  on  the  back,  and  held  up  the  empty 
cup. 

"  Too  late,  old  fellow,  as  Miss  Barbara  says. 
Never  mind,"  in  a  lower  key,  "  I  have  prom 
ised  Deering  to  brew  an  Irish  punch,  after  the 
ladies  withdraw." 

The  artist  stared  a  moment  at  the  goblet,  and 


SAN  ROSAPJO  RANCH.  363 

shivered  as  he  took  the  place  which  had  been 
made  for  him  beside  his  hostess.  Soon  the  sig 
nal  was  given  for  the  ladies  to  leave  the  room  ; 
Graham's  arrival  having  precipitated  the  break 
ing  up  of  the  party.  The  new-comer  did  not 
long  remain  in  the  dining-room,  but  presently 
followed  his  hostess  into  the  library,  where  he 
found  Barbara  at  the  piano.  Mrs.  Deering  sig 
nalled  him  to  take  a  place  at  her  side. 

"  I  fear  I  took  too  great  a  liberty  in  coming 
unasked.  O'Neil  says  I  stalked  into  the  room 
like  a  stage  ghost,  and  cast  a  gloom  over  the 
party." 

"  You  know  you  are  always  welcome  here. 
You  used  to  call  the  Ranch  your  home." 

"  Have  I  still  a  right  to  do  so  ?  Things  seem 
so  changed,  my  lady." 

"  You  will  never  find  me  changed  while  I  can 
help  you.  I  did  not  send  for  you,  knowing  that 
you  would  come  if  it  was  best  for  you." 

"  And  yet  I  came  too  late  !  " 

"  Graham,  there  are  no  such  words  as  too  late 
to  those  who  know  how  to  wait.  That  phrase  is 
only  for  the  impatient,  not  for  the  steadfast. 
But  now  tell  me  of  yourself,  of  your  work ;  it 
is  so  long  since  we  have  seen  you." 

"  Of  myself,  no  !  of  my  work,  yes.  I  have 
finished  my  picture ;  it  has  gone  to  Paris.  It 
will  now  be  judged  by  other  men."  He  did  not 


364  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

tell  her  of  his  loss,  or  that  he  had  sent  The  Lovers 
in  the  place  of  the  burned  picture. 

"  May  they  prove  kindly  critics." 

"  No,  I  do  not  want  that  ;  I  do  not  insist  that 
they  shall  praise  my  work ;  I  only  question,  can 
they  understand  it  ?  " 

"  But  that  is  the  least  of  it  all,  you  have  some 
times  said." 

"Ah!  Madonna,  I  have  been  wrong.  What 
use  is  there  for  me  to  speak  if  there  be  no  one  to 
hear  ?  If  they  do  not  understand,  the  fault  must 
lie  in  me.  I  must  learn  to  speak  the  broad 
language  of  humanity.  I  cannot  ask  men  to 
puzzle  themselves  with  my  small  vernacular." 
The  man  sighed  deeply,  and  his  friend  noticed 
that  he  was  paler  and  thinner  than  she  had  last 
seen  him. 

"  You  have  been  over-working,  Graham ;  you 
lead  an  unnatural  life  when  you  are  in  town, 
now  that  your  people  are  away.  Why  not  come 
back  to  the  tower  again  ? " 

"  I  think  I  will,  Madonna." 

He  had  been  over-working,  and  for  what  ? 
That  the  picture  for  which  he  had  sacrificed  so 
much,  should  be  seen  one  brief  hour  by  a  dozen 
men  !  He  now  felt  in  what  a  strained  condition 
his  nerves  had  been.  The  picture  was  gone, 
and  with  it  the  strong  excitement  which  had  kept 
him  alive  and  alert.  The  tension  was  relaxed, 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  365 

and  an  intense  depression  had  followed,  which 
was  in  turn  losing  itself  in  a  new  feeling.  A 
lonely  longing,  a  craving  for  a  tender  womanly 
sympathy,  for  the  only  human  being  who  had 
never  misunderstood  his  many  moods,  who  was 
always  in  sympathy  with  him  in  joy  or  sorrow. 
She  alone  in  all  the  world  could  have  helped 
him  at  this  time  ;  to  her  he  could  have  confided 
all  those  delicate  shades  of  thought  which  drifted 
through  his  mind,  too  fragile  ever  to  be  prisoned 
in  words.  She  could  have  divined  those  half- 
formed  ideas  and  crystallized  them  into  steadfast 
utterances.  He  was  cold,  bitterly  cold,  and  suf 
fered  for  that  loving  human  sympathy  as  the 
parched  hillsides  had  but  now  longed  for  the 
refreshing  rain  which  had  made  the  earth  green 
and  fair  after  the  long  summer  drought.  He 
had  chosen  Art  for  his  mistress,  and  she  had 
smiled  upon  him  chastely  and  coolly  ;  and  yet  he 
was  not  content. 

Barbara  left  the  piano,  and  Graham  joined  her. 
The  over-punctilious  courtesy  with  which  he  had 
always  treated  her  was  forgotten.  He  spoke 
suddenly  and  sharply  :  — 

"  What  did  you  mean  by  what  you  said  to  me, 
—  why  am  I  too  late  ?  " 

"  I  meant  too  late  for  a  draught  from  the  lov 
ing-cup." 

"  You  meant  more  than  that." 


366  SAN  EOSAEIO  EANCH. 

"  If  you  choose  to  fancy  —  " 

"  I  cannot  but  choose  to  know!' 

By  this  time  the  gay  group  from  the  dining- 
room  had  flooded  the  library  with  their  ringing 
voices,  their  merry  faces.  Only  these  two  were 
pale  and  out  of  harmony  with  the  scene.  Bar 
bara,  with  downcast  eyes,  stood  by  the  piano, 
tapping  her  fingers  nervously  on  the  polished 
case. 

"  I  have  interrupted   your  festivity  ;    I  have 
been  a  very  skeleton  at  the  feast ;  forgive  me,  — 
I  could  not  help  coming,  —  forgive  me  and  answer 
me  one  question,  and  I  will  go  and  leave  you  in 
peace." 

"  I  say,  Bab,  we  are  going  into  the  drawing- 
room  to  tell  ghost  stories.  O'Neil  has  a  splen 
did  one,  —  a  real  Irish  family  banshee  yarn. 
Come  on,  you  and  Graham." 

"  In  a  moment,  Hal,  don't  wait  for  us  ;  we  will 
join  you  before  you  are  all  settled  and  Mr.  O'Neil 
has  begun." 

The  library  was  again  empty.  The  voices  of 
the  holiday  folk  reached  their  ears  across  the 
hall. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  have  heard  from  her." 

There  was  no  need  of  speaking  her  name. 
Her  face  looked  at  them  from  its  place  over  the 
mantel-shelf,  —  a  quick,  strong  sketch  made  by 
Graham.  From  a  leafy  background  white 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  367 

shoulders,  and  a  fair  face  with  deep  eyes,  were 
shadowed  forth.  The  firelight,  falling  restlessly 
upon  the  picture,  touched  into  light  now  the  full 
red  mouth,  now  the  ivory  throat. 

"  I  have  not  heard  for  some  time.  She  was 
in  Venice  again,  very  ill  from  the  long  journey, 
when  she  last  wrote." 

"  You  have  not  heard  since  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Do  you  think  she  is  well  now,  and  —  and  at 
peace  ? " 

-No." 

"What  reason  have  you  to  doubt  her  well- 
being?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you." 

The  man  looked  at  her  searchingly,  as  if  he 
would  read  her  very  soul,  and  then  turned  away 
with  a  word  of  leave-taking,  —  "  Good-night." 

"  Stay  a  moment.  I  have  something  to  tell 
you.  I  do  not  know  why  I  am  forced  to  speak 
to  you  of  the  last  interview  she  had  in  this  room, 
but  I  must  do  so.  Before  she  left,  —  on  the 
night  when  she  cried  out  in  the  court-room,  — 
you  remember  ?  " 

Did  he  remember  ?  Ah,  Heaven  !  only  too 
well  he  remembered  the  last  words  she  had 
ever  spoken  to  him,  —  valiant  words,  full  of 
love  and  protection. 

"  That  night  Mr.  Galbraith  came  to  see  her. 


368  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

It  was  very  late,  and  they  had  a  long  conversa 
tion.  I  could  only  hear  their  voices  from  the 
next  room  ;  and  then  she  called  me  to  her,  and 
told  us  both  all  her  sad  story,  —  all  that  had 
passed  between  you  and  her.  She  took  all 
blame  upon  herself,  and  would  have  made  us 
both  acknowledge  that  you  had  been  right  and 
just  in  acting  as  you  did." 

"  And  was  I  not  just  ?  " 

"Just,  perhaps  ;  but  how  ungenerous  !  What 
have  you  to  do  with  justice?  You,  who  never 
painted  till  you  painted  her ;  you,  who  were  so 
cold  and  unfeeling  till  her  smile  made  you  hu 
man  for  a  little  time.  Then  your  own  selfish 
egotism  froze  you  again." 

"  Thank  you  for  what  you  have  told  me,  and 
good-by.  I  shall  not  see  you  soon  again.  You 
were  very  good  to  her ;  bless  you  for  it !  Every 
one  was  good  to  her,  —  every  one  but  me,  it 
seems." 

"  You  speak  as  if  she  were  dead." 

He  did  not  hear  her  last  words.  He  was 
already  out  of  earshot,  taking  leave  of  his 
hostess. 

When  he  was  alone  with  the  stars  he  could 
think  better  than  in  that  heated  room,  with 
that  dear  vine-crowned  face  before  his  eyes, 
with  Barbara's  voice  in  his  ears.  He  saw  how 
Barbara  misjudged  him.  He  knew  that  most 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  369 

men  and  women  would  have  held  him  as  she 
did  ;  and  yet  he  had  thought  that  he  was  right. 
He  had  fought  the  good  fight,  and  he  had  con 
quered.  What  mattered  it  if  all  the  world 
saw  in  him  a  monster  of  selfishness  ?  He  had 
chosen  poverty,  hard  work,  and  loneliness,  when 
wealth,  worldly  success,  and  a  painless  love 
might  have  been  his.  Sybaris  had  been  open 
to  him  ;  and  he  had  turned  his  back  upon  the 
perfumed  island  for  an  attic,  a  crust,  and  a 
mistress  who  demanded  all,  and  had  yielded 
nothing  but  hope. 

But  now  things  were  altered.  He  felt  angry 
and  outraged  at  the  thought  that  others  knew 
her  story,  that  she  was  pitied  by  them  because 
of  her  great  love  for  him.  He  longed  to  pro 
tect  her,  to  suffer  for  her,  to  make  her  forget 
in  his  love  and  care  the  cruel  lot  which  had 
been  hers.  He  yearned  for  her  sympathy,  for 
her  love,  for  that  sense  of  peace  which  had 
come  upon  him  as  he  sat  by  her  side.  The 
tide  of  love,  which  not  once  in  a  million  years 
is  at  the  full  in  two  human  hearts  at  once, 
rushed  over  him,  sweeping  away  pride,  reason, 
selfishness,  ambition,  —  all,  all  routed  and  o'erset 
by  that  warm,  delicious  flood  of  emotion.  He 
had  fought  against  love  so  long,  that  at  last 
the  overthrow  of  will  brought  him  an  ecstasy 
of  delight.  He  ran  like  one  crazed  through  the 
24 


370  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

cool,  starry  night,  singing  a  love-song  strange 
and  tender,  a  song  of  submission,  of  hope  and 
passionate  love.  Through  the  orchard  he  passed, 
startling  the  birds  with  his  wonderful  song.  The 
prisoned  love-mates  heard  it  in  their  little  nest, 
and  folded  their  snowy  wings  closer  together  ; 
the  white  roses  heard  it,  and  trembled  at  the 
sound ;  the  six  tall  redwoods  listened  and  whis 
pered  gravely  together  as  he  came  among  them 
and  sank  upon  his  knees  at  their  feet,  on  the 
very  spot  where  she  had  sat  that  day.  That 
day !  How  could  he  have  forgotten  it,  and  all 
that  it  had  meant  to  them  both?  What  mist 
had  risen  again  between  them  and  hidden  its 
memory  from  his  sight  ?  Before,  it  had  been 
her  want  of  faith  in  him,  her  fault,  her  only 
fault.  Her  atonement  for  that  sin  against  her 
own  soul,  against  him,  had  been  bitter  indeed. 
And  afterwards  what  veil  had  blinded  him  to 
the  great  truth  that  they  loved  each  other  abso 
lutely,  that  their  two  beings  were  each  incom 
plete  without  the  other?  His  pride!  It  had 
been  his  pride  which  had  kept  them  so  long 
apart !  But  now  it  was  over.  He  would  go  to 
her,  and  tell  her  all. 

"  Millicent,  Millicent,  I  love  you  ! "  he  cried 
aloud,  his  eager  voice  surging  from  his  breast 
as  if  to  relieve  its  weight  of  love.  His  cry  was 
joyous,  bounding,  full  of  life  and  love  and  hope. 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  371 

The  night  wind  bore  back  to  his  ears  a  tender, 
mournful  cadence,  —  "love  you." 

"  Millicent,  my  love,  I  am  coming  ;  wait 
for  me  ! " 

"  Wait  for  me  ! "  sighed  the  echo. 

And  the  young  moon,  pale  and  shrinking, 
dropped  behind  the  high  tree-tops  from  his 
sight ;  while  the  redwoods  swayed  tremulously, 
shaken  by  a  sudden  blast,  and  the  echo  again 
sighed  its  faint  response, — 

"Wait  for  me! " 

And  the  tide  on  the  Pacific  was  at  the  flood. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

"  Malheureux  !  cet  instant  oft  votre  ame  engourdie 

A  secoue  les  fers  qu'  elle  traine  ici-bas, 
Ce  fugitif  instant  fut  toute  votre  vie  ; 
Ne  le  regrettez  pas." 

IT  was  a  wonderful  morning  which  saw  the 
birth  of  the  new  year  in  Venice,  —  one  of  those 
clear,  bright  days  on  which  Winter  lays  aside 
all  his  severity  and  assumes  the  smiles  of  the 
Spring  still  asleep  in  the  bosom  of  the  stiffened 
earth.  The  piazza  was  filled  with  a  motley 
crowd  of  holiday  folk,  and  the  lagoons  swarmed 
with  a  fleet  of  gondolas  and  sandalos. 

Before  a  mighty  marble  house  which  stands 
where  one  of  the  smaller  thoroughfares  sweeps 
its  waters  into  the  Grand  Canal,  a  gondola  has 
paused.  A  young  man,  a  foreigner  evidently, 
steps  from  the  boat  and  passes  under  the  fretted 
archway,  with  an  admiring  glance  at  the  beauti 
ful  carving.  He  is  pressed  for  time,  but  he 
stops  for  a  moment  to  glance  into  the  square 
cortile,  with  its  group  of  almond-trees  and  its 
playing  fountain.  He  is  met  at  the  wide  door 
way  by  a  servant,  of  whom  he  asks,  in  the  best 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  373 

Italian  he  can  muster,  for  the  Signorina  Alms- 
ford.  The  black-browed  menial  politely  replies 
that  it  will  be  impossible  for  him  to  see  the 
signorina ;  she  is  not  at  home  to  visitors.  No 
further  answer  can  the  stranger  obtain  to  his 
eager  inquiries.  A  gold  piece  unlocks  the  tongue 
of  the  menial  at  last,  and  he  informs  the  young 
man,  in  excellent  English,  that  the  signorina 
has  been  ill  ever  since  her  return  from  America, 
a  month  and  more  ago. 

"  She  has  been  very  ill ;  Girolomo  says  that 
she  will  die,  and  the  Signor  Almsford  himself 
fears  the  worst.  She  has  not  left  her  room 
once.  To-day  being  a  festa,  she  has  fancied  to 
go  out  with  Girolomo  in  the  gondola,  and  I  am 
to  help  him  carry  her  downstairs." 

As  he  finished  speaking,  the  man  noticed  that 
the  visitor  had  grown  very  pale,  and  now  stood 
leaning  against  a  marble  pillar  as  if  for  support. 
When  he  spoke  again  it  was  to  send  his  card 
to  Mr.  Almsford.  On  being  admitted  to  an 
outer  reception  room  he  sank  upon  a  chair,  his 
face  hidden  in  his  hands.  Soon  he  was  bidden 
to  enter.  The  signorina  had  learned  of  his  ar 
rival,  and  it  was  her  pleasure  to  see  him. 

The  young  man  passed  through  a  long  suite 
of  stately  rooms,  scarcely  noticing  the  rich  fur 
nishing  and  decorations.  Before  a  curtained 
doorway  he  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  the 


374  SAN  ROSARIO   RANCH. 

servant,  pushing  aside  the  heavy  portiere,  left 
him  no  choice  but  to  enter.  Before  him,  re 
clining  in  a  great  chair,  lay  a  figure  which  he 
had  last  seen  full  of  health  and  strength.  From 
a  pile  of  sea-green  cushions  smiled  a  face  which 
he  had  known  when  it  was  glorious  with  the 
freshness  of  youth.  The  color  which  the  red 
rose  of  love  had  brought  to  her  cheek  had  faded 
now  ;  she  was  like  a  flower  no  longer,  but  a  great 
white  pearl  shimmering  through  pale  waters. 
She  smiled,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  her  coun 
tryman  ;  and  Maurice  Galbraith,  bowing  low  over 
the  small  fingers,  strove  to  hide  his  face  from 
the  great  hollow  eyes  which  looked  inquiringly 
into  his  own. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come.  I  do  not 
even  ask  what  has  brought  you,  it  is  so  good  to 
see  some  one  from  home." 

It  had  become  "home"  to  her  now,  the  coun 
try  which  she  had  so  long  repudiated.  "  Home  " 
after  a  half  year's  residence;  "home,"  though  the 
language  spoken  there  was  to  her  a  foreign  one. 
The  meeting  is  not  without  its  tears,  the  pleas 
ure  not  unmixed  with  pain.  Eager  questions 
are  asked,  and  faithfully  answered.  Millicent's 
visitor  brings  her  tidings  and  tender  messages 
from  far-off  friends.  He  is  rewarded  for  his 
pains  by  a  faint  smile  which  glimmers  over  the 
pale  features,  rising  in  the  deep  eyes  and  losing 


SAN  ROSA  RIO  RANCH.  375 

itself  in  the  tender  curves  of  the  mouth.  Beside 
the  couch  stands  a  delicate  bronze  table  wrought 
by  no  less  cunning  a  hand  than  Benvenuto's.  A 
vase  of  flowers  and  a  crystal  bell  are  here  placed. 
The  musical  note  of  the  bell  now  summons  a 
domestic,  who  bows  at  the  order  given,  softly 
disappears,  and  soon  re-enters,  bearing  a  salver 
on  which  are  a  plate  of  fruits  and  a  bluish  de 
canter,  with  glasses  of  the  dainty  Venetian  fash 
ion.  From  the  delicately  tendrilled  flask  Milli- 
cent  pours  a  clear  golden  wine  whose  perfume 
permeates  the  apartment.  She  fills  both  glasses, 
and,  touching  the  edge  of  hers  to  the  rim  of  his, 
bids  him  drink  to  the  health  of  the  dear  ones  at 
home.  Galbraith  stops  the  musical  ring  which 
the  contact  has  drawn  from  the  tumbler  by 
touching  the  edge  with  his  finger  in  a  me 
chanical  manner.  It  was  one  of  the  supersti 
tions  which  had  waned  to  a  habit  with  him. 

"  Why  do  you  drown  that  sound  of  good 
cheer  ?  " 

"Because  my  grandmother  told  me  when  I 
was  a  little  child  that  if  a  glass  rang  itself  out 
to  silence,  the  sound  was  sure  to  prove  a  death- 
knell." 

"  Listen,  you  can  still  hear  mine  faintly.  It 
is  a  wonderful  wine,  connoisseurs  say,  this  Lac- 
rymse  Christi  of  ours.  How  different,  is  it  not, 
from  the  strong  red  wine  of  California  that  you 


376  SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH. 

gave  us  that  day, — do  you  remember?  —  when 
we  feasted  with  you  under  the  fig-tree." 

"  As  different  as  you  were  to  the  rest  of  us 
gathered  about  the  board  that  day." 

"  And  yet  I  would  give  all  the  wine  that  lies 
mellowing  in  the  cellars  of  the  palace  for  one 
cup  of  your  good  Los  Angelos  vintage." 

The  wine  seemed  to  spread  through  her  frame 
like  a  flame.  It  brought  a  flush  to  the  pale 
cheeks  and  strength  to  the  fragile  body.  She 
arose  and  walked  unsupported  across  the  room 
to  a  dusky  mirror.  She  wrapped  herself  in  a 
garment  of  silvery  fur,  and  together  they  left  the 
room  fit  for  the  boudoir  of  a  princess.  At  the 
doorway  Girolomo  awaited  them.  Waving  aside 
the  domestic  who  stood  ready  to  assist  him,  the 
strong  gondolier  lifted  the  delicate  figure  and 
bore  it  unaided  down  the  marble  stairs.  He 
laid  her  light  weight  gently  among  the  cushions 
of  the  gondola,  and  assuming  his  oar  with  the 
incomparably  graceful  movement  of  his  guild, 
rowed  the  black-hooded  craft  down  the  Grand 
Canal.  To  the  young  American,  the  awe  and 
mystery  of  the  place  are  not  yet  familiar ;  and 
as  the  boat  glides  between  the  rows  of  mighty 
palaces,  he  wonders  if  the  strange  scene  is  the 
fabric  of  his  own  dream. 

But  no  ;  when  he  looks  into  the  face  of  the 
woman  lying  amid  the  cushions,  he  knows  that 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  377 

it  is  all  true,  and  that  this  shadowy  figure  is 
more  real  to  him  than  all  the  men  and  women 
he  has  ever  known.  Presently  they  emerge  into 
the  broader  waters  of  the  lagoon,  where  lie  the 
fisher  craft,  with  their  many-colored  sails  spread 
to  dry  in  the  afternoon  breeze.  The  smooth 
green  water  is  marked  here  and  there  with  the 
black  mooring-piles,  which  throw  a  shadowy 
outline  on  the  changeful  tide.  To  the  American, 
bred  in  a  land  where  Art  is  in  its  cradle,  and 
beauty  exists  in  its  more  austere  aspect  alone, 
the  glory  of  the  spectacle,  the  wondrous  archi 
tecture,  the  wealth  of  color,  are  intoxicating. 
The  western  sky  glows  with  the  first  pale  tints 
of  the  sunset,  against  which  a  score  of  spires 
are  darkly  outlined.  The  air  is  musical  with  soft, 
distant  chimes,  and  the  song  of  the  gondoliers 
is  rhythmic  to  the  motion  of  their  oars.  From 
the  shore  come  cheerful  sounds  of  holiday  folk ; 
and  now  and  then  a  sandalo  sweeps  past  them 
with  a  freight  of  joyous  pleasure-seekers.  In 
one  of  these  a  group  of  masqueraders  are  sing 
ing  a  gay  love-ballad.  Millicent  hums  the  re 
frain  to  herself,  and  answers  pleasantly  to  the 
noisy  greeting  with  which  one  of  the  party  hails 
them.  A  young  girl,  with  the  red-gold  hair  of 
her  people,  turns  and  looks  long  into  Millicent's 
face.  She  wears  over  her  broad  shoulders  a 
leopard-skin  for  warmth  ;  while  her  head,  with 


378  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

its  glorious  crown  of  hair,  has  no  other  protec 
tion  than  the  doubtful  one  of  a  garland  of  roses. 
As  she  looks  at  Millicent,  she  takes  the  fragrant 
wreath  from  her  brow,  and,  with  a  graceful  salu 
tation,  tosses  it  into  the  gondola.  In  a  moment 
the  strong  strokes  of  the  two  rowers  carry  the 
sandalo  out  of  sight,  and  Galbraith  lays  the 
flowers  in  Millicent's  lap. 

"  May  the  saints  bless  the  child !  'T  is  the 
tribute  of  happiness  and  beauty  to  grief  and 
pain." 

The  air  has  grown  chill  with  the  down-drop 
ping  of  the  sun,  and  Girolomo,  unbidden,  turns 
the  gondola  homeward.  As  they  float  past  the 
familiar  places,  Millicent  looks  long  and  steadily 
at  the  scenes  which  are  so  dear  to  her.  She 
shivers  as  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  looms  dimly  forth, 
and  smiles  again  at  the  familiar  faces  of  the  boat 
men  on  the  steps  of  the  piazzetta. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  seen  me  in  the 
city  of  my  birth  ;  you  can  understand  me  now 
as  you  could  never  have  understood  me  over 
there.  Dear,  dreamy  Venice,  where  great  vices 
and  greater  virtues  have  flourished  more  grandly 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  world !  And  now  it 
is  all  past,  her  glory  and  her  pain  ;  and  knowing 
this,  we  make  the  best  of  the  pleasant  things 
left  to  us.  We  steep  ourselves  in  her  rich  beauty, 
content  with  its  perfection ;  we  con  over  her 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH.  379 

mysterious  legends,  and  forget  that  other  nations 
are  living,  striving,  working,  and  making  their 
histories,  while  we  are  dreaming  and  playing  our 
lives  away.  Your  great  Saxon  virtue,  '  Truth,' 
is  meaningless  to  us  ;  we  are  content  with 
Beauty." 

"And  you  are  happy  —  contented  ;  you  are 
willing  to  pass  the  rest  of  your  life  here  ? " 

"Yes,  and  no.  I  could  never  be  satisfied  to 
drop  back  into  the  old  easy  life.  I  have  drunk 
too  deeply  of  the  strong,  new  wine  of  Los  An- 
gelos,  to  be  content  with  the  mellow  vintage  of 
the  Abruzzi." 

"  And  yet  there  is  fermentation  of  a  strong, 
new  wine  here,  in  your  wondrous  Italy.  All  do 
not  dream  of  the  past ;  there  are  men  and  women 
who  foretell  a  new  existence  to  the  land,  now  that 
the  old  shackles  of  tyranny  and  superstition  are 
dropping  from  her  cramped  limbs." 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  a  volcanic  soil.  Everything 
is  so  sudden  and  so  shifting.  There  will  be 
changes,  but  it  is  the  making  over  of  an  old  gar 
ment  after  all.  Liberty  may  sponge  and  cleanse 
herself  a  vesture,  but  the  old  stains  and  spots 
have  eaten  deep  into  the  tri-color." 

"  You  will  return  then  ;  you  will  not  pass  your 
life  so  far  away  from  us  ? " 

She  smiled  a  little  wearily  and  said,  "  I  think  I 
shall  never  see  America  again.  But  I  am,  oh,  so 


380  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

thankful  to  have  known  my  home !    I,  who  have 
lived  a  Venetian,  shall  die  an  American." 

"And  yet  —  ?" 

"And  yet  I  am  glad  to  —  do  not  be  shocked, 
kind  friend,  if  I  say  that  I  am  glad  to  die  in  my 
own  Venice  where  I  was  born.  I  have  two 
selves.  One  was  born  and  nurtured  here  under 
the  shadow  of  the  silent  palaces ;  the  other 
sprang  up  full-grown  among  the  madrone  trees 
of  San  Rosario.  The  two  have  warred  and 
struggled  here;  their  battle-ground  has  been 
my  breast,  and  the  new  self  conquered  the  old ; 
but  the  victory  will  be  short-lived." 

Galbraith  looked  at  her  intently.  She  had 
spoken  a  little  wildly,  as  if  her  mind  were 
clouded.  She  saw  his  look,  and  with  a  sigh 
smoothed  the  lines  from  her  brow. 

"  I  am  a  little  mad,  you  think  ?  Yes,  yes.  But 
I  am  so  happy  to  see  you.  You  understand  me, 
dear  friend  ;  and  you  understand  him,  a  little. 
You  will  see  him  again,  though  perhaps  I  never 
shall.  You  will  tell  him  —  No,  do  not  look  so 
grieved.  It  is  very  likely  that  I  shall  get  well." 

He  lifted  her  pale  hand  and  touched  it  to 
his  lips,  as  a  Catholic  might  kiss  the  cross. 

"  You  will  be  well  and  strong  again,  my  child. 
Do  not  speak  so." 

"  It  may  be,  and  yet  I  do  not  wish  it.  Life 
looks  so  hard  and  cold  and  lonely.  I  do  not  wish 


SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

to  live,  —  and  yet  I  am  so  afraid  to  die."  She 
shivered,  and  Galbraith  drew  the  gray  cloak 
closer  about  her.  "  If  I  could  only  fall  quietly 
asleep,  and  wake  to  find  this  poor  weak  body 
left  behind  —  but  you  remember  that  poor 
creature's  death  ?  It  was  so  terrible  —  I  can 
never  forget  it." 

"You  must  not  think  of  it.  What  message 
was  it  that  you  wanted  to  send  home  ? " 

"  It  was  to  Graham.  I  can  speak  to  you 
about  him  and  to  no  one  else.  You  must  tell 
him  how  thankful  I  am  that  I  left  my  old  home, 
my  old  life,  and  came  to  his  country.  Tell  him 
that  he  has  nothing  to  reproach  himself  with ; 
that  the  only  thing  that  has  made  my  life  worth 
living  has  been  my  love  for  him.  Tell  him  to 
remember  me  tenderly  and  without  regret ;  it 
should  be  a  sweet  memory  without  a  shadow  of 
bitterness.  Tell  him  —  but  what  am  I  saying  ? 
You  could  never  repeat  it  all  even  if  you  would. 
Give  him  this  ;  it  will  tell  him  all ;  it  is  a  token 
the  trace  of  which  he  will  find  on  my  hand 
when  we  meet  again,  if  souls  retain  aught  of 
their  old  vesture  in  the  twilight  world." 

She  seemed  wandering  again.  From  her 
slim  finger  she  slipped  the  little  ring  which 
Galbraith  took  and  kept. 

"And  Barbara,  dear  good  Barbara.  She  is 
white  with  that  spotless  purity  of  a  passionless 


382  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

womanhood.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Galbraith,  that 
dying  people  sometimes  have  a  power  of  seeing 
into  the  future  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  what  face  I 
see  beside  Barbara's  in  the  bright  coming  years 
which  I  shall  never  know  ?  It  is  that  of  a  brave 
and  loyal  man,  —  a  man  whose  love  would  make 
such  a  woman  happy  and  complete.  It  is  the 
face  of  the  friend  who  has  brought  me  great 
peace  on  this  New  Year's  Day." 

The  black  gondola  now  floated  at  rest  under 
the  archway  of  the  grim  old  palace.  From 
beneath  the  sable  hood  Girolomo  lifted  the  slen 
der  frame.  The  old  fellow's  eyes  filled  with 
tears  at  the  gentle  words  which  his  young  mis 
tress  whispered  to  him  as  he  carried  her 
through  the  marble  archway  and  up  the  long 
steep  stairs. 

"  Tanto  ricca,  tanto  giovine,  tanto  bella,  e  bi- 
sogna  che  muore"  Galbraith  understood  the 
words  muttered  by  the  old  servant  as  he  passed 
him  after  having  laid  his  burden  at  rest  in  the 
great  chair.  He  understood,  but  he  would  not 
believe  them.  It  could  not  be  true. 

It  was  late  that  night  when  the  soft-footed 
nun  who  was  Millicent's  nurse  laid  her  patient 
on  her  couch,  with  a  gentle  reproof  for  her 
wilfulness  in  being  so  wakeful. 

"  But  it  was  not  my  fault,  my  sister  ;  I  could  not 
sleep  earlier.  Now  I  am  better  and  shall  rest." 


SAN  EOSARIO  RANCH.  383 

She  smiled  in  the  quiet  face  which  bent  over 
her  under  its  snow-white  coif  of  linen.  The 
heavy  gold-bronze  hair  was  not  plaited  that  night, 
Millicent  was  so  tired.  The  sister  smoothed  it 
tenderly  over  the  pillow,  her  hard  fingers  thrill 
ing  at  the  touch  of  so  much  beauty.  Her  own 
close-shaven  head  had  once  been  covered  with 
thick  black  curls,  one  of  which  slept  on  the 
heart  of  the  dead  man  for  the  repose  of  whose 
soul  her  prayers  were  offered  at  every  hour 
of  the  day. 

"  My  sister,  sit  by  me.  I  want  to  talk  with 
you  a  little  while.  I  know  your  story,  blessed 
one.  Let  me  ask  you  a  little  of  your  life  in  the 
convent,  among  the  sick.  Is  it  peaceful,  is  it 
happy  ?  Do  you  feel  that  you  are  nearer  to  the 
spirit  of  your  dead  lover  than  when  you  were 
in  the  world  ?  " 

"  My  child,  I  may  not  speak  of  these  things ; 
it  would  be  a  sin.  Our  words  we  can  control, 
if  not  our  thoughts." 

"But,  sister,  I  need  your  help.  You  know 
that  I  have  not  your  faith,  and  never  could 
have.  But  I  have  loved  as  you  once  loved,  and 
I  shall  never  see  the  face  of  my  lover.  What 
shall  I  do  with  my  empty  life?  I  am  so  weak!" 

"  All  the  greater  need  have  you  for  a  stronger 
help  than  mine,  for  a  haven  from  the  ills  of  the 
world.  I  cannot  think  you  would  find  that  place 


384  SAN  BOSAIUO  RANCH. 

in  our  cloister.  There  must  be  workers  in  the 
world  among  the  living  and  strong,  as  well  as 
with  the  sick  and  dying.  It  is  in  that  world 
that  you,  my  child,  with  your  power,  your  wealth, 
your  beauty,  should  find  your  work.  The  arms 
of  the  Church  are  wide,  and  embrace  the  toilers 
in  the  market-place  as  well  as  those  who  watch 
and  pray  in  the  cloister." 

"  There  is  only  work,  then,  that  will  bring 
peace  ? " 

"  Work  and  prayer,  my  child.  You  must  not 
talk  of  this  to-night ;  you  should  sleep  now. 
To-morrow  you  shall  tell  me  more  of  the  needs 
of  your  soul." 

"  Only  work  !  I  am  so  tired,  I  am  so  weak, 
I  cannot  work  alone.  If  there  had  been  one  to 
help  me  — "  She  lifted  her  white  hand,  so 
nerveless  now,  and  let  it  sink  wearily  beside 
her. 

"Bring  the  great  candelabrum,  and  set  it  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed.  Light  all  the  candles.  I 
want  to  drive  out  the  shadows  from  the  dark 
corners.  Ah  !  hear  them  singing  below  there 
in  the  canal." 

She  sat  up  among  her  pillows  listening  to  the 
chorus  chanted  by  a  band  of  belated  merry 
makers.  It  was  the  love-song  that  the  people 
in  the  sandalo  had  sung  that  afternoon. 

" Dame  un pensiero,  sogna  ine>  ed io  ti sognerb" 


SAN  ROSAEIO  RANCH.  385 

"  In  dreaming  give  a  thought  of  me,  and  I  will 
dream  of  thee." 

"  Give  me  my  little  golden  crown,  sister,  and 
then  lie  down  upon  your  couch  and  sleep.  You 
do  not  mind  the  lights  ?  " 

Millicent  was  fanciful  and  wilful  that  night ; 
and  the  nun,  knowing  that  it  was  best  to  humor 
her,  brought  her  from  its  velvet  case  the  gold 
fillet  of  olive  leaves  which  Graham  had  laid  on 
the  brow  of  his  love  in  the  forest  of  San  Ro- 
sario.  The  girl  set  it  on  her  head,  and  called 
for  a  mirror. 

"  I  am  beautiful  still,  my  sister,  though  so 
pale,  am  I  not  ?  " 

The  nun  nodded  her  head  smilingly. 

"  Now  that  is  all,  and  I  shall  sleep.  Good 
night  to  you.  Say  a  little  prayer  for  me,  sister, 
and  one  for  a  strong,  proud  man  who  will  be  very 
sad  to-night  with  me  so  far  away  from  him." 

She  folded  her  palms  upon  her  breast,  as  they 
fold  the  hands  of  the  dead.  The  sister  stood 
beside  her,  watching  uneasily  the  light  slumber 
into  which  her  patient  had  fallen.  Her  pulse 
was  full  and  even,  the  breathing  regular,  and 
the  sleep  peaceful  as  that  of  a  child. 

"  A  strange  fancy  to  light  those  candles,  and 
to  put  that  wreath  about  her  head.  Poor  child, 
she  is  beautiful,  indeed,  as  the  vision  of  a  saint," 
murmured  the  sister. 

25 


386  SAN  ROSARIO  RANCH. 

At  last  the  black-robed  watcher  laid  aside  her 
coif,  and,  lying  down  upon  a  couch  near  the 
bedside,  fell  asleep.  She  could  not  have  told 
how  long  she  slept,  when  a  sound  awoke  her. 
The  quiet  of  the  night  was  broken  by  a  sudden 
gust  of  wind  blowing  through  the  long  apart 
ment  with  a  deep  sigh.  It  trembled  among 
the  tresses  of  the  sleeping  girl,  and  stirred  and 
lingered  in  the  strand  of  hair  which  overhung 
the  tiny  ear.  It  blew  the  flame  of  the  candles 
straight  out  from  the  wick,  and  fanned  the  em 
bers  on  the  hearthstone  to  a  last  up-flaming. 
It  blew  over  the  lips  of  the  sleeper,  and  bore 
these  softly  spoken  words  to  her  ear,  — 

"  I  come,  I  come  !  wait  for  me  ! " 

The  girl  turned  on  her  pillow,  and  smiled  in 
her  sleep.  All  was  going  well.  The  nun  re 
plenished  the  dying  fire  with  fuel,  and,  extin 
guishing  the  candles,  lay  down  to  sleep  again 
by  the  light  of  the  night  lamp,  muttering  an 
Ave  Maria. 

And  the  breath  of  the  west  wind  passed  out 
of  the  silent  sick  room,  and  went  roystering 
through  the  long  suite  of  stately  apartments, 
where  it  met  no  man.  It  was  a  strong  puff  of 
wind,  which  had  travelled  far  and  sturdily  across 
wild  seas  and  smiling  lands.  It  had  raced  with 
man's  toy  of  steam  and  iron,  and  laughed  in 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  387 

derision  at  the  poor  engine  and  its  boasted 
speed  ;  it  had  swayed  dim  forest-trees  in  a 
far-off  land ;  it  had  ruffled  a  quiet  ocean  into 
deep  furrows  of  foam ;  it  had  breathed  upon  a 
band  of  icy  mountain  giants,  and  had  grown 
cold  at  their  contact ;  it  had  come  sighing  down 
the  Grand  Canal,  and  had  entered  the  great 
palace  unceremoniously;  it  had  fanned  the  cheek 
of  a  sleeping  woman  beautiful  as  the  vision  of  a 
saint;  it  had  whispered  in  her  ear  its  message. 
And  now,  at  the  doorway  of  that  great  palace, 
the  bold  wind  ceased  its  blustering,  and  died 
away  into  the  still  air  of  the  ante-chamber,  get 
ting  behind  the  heavy  arras,  and  imparting  a 
trembling  motion  to  the  faded  figures  of  war 
rior  and  horse.  A  dim,  gray  Presence  had 
entered  the  palace,  before  which  the  merry  west 
wind  had  grown  quiet.  The  hush  of  deepest 
night  was  on  all  the  sleeping  house,  and  the 
tide  of  the  Adriatic  was  at  the  ebb.  Silently 
the  Presence  crept  toward  the  sick-room,  and, 
as  it  crossed  the  threshold,  the  spark  of  the 
night  light  flickered  and  went  out,  while  the 
nun  crossed  herself  as  she  slept. 

When  Maurice  Galbraith  called  at  the  Palazzo 
Fortunio  early  on  the  morning  after  he  had  seen 
Millicent,  to  inquire  how  she  had  passed  the 
night,  he  found  the  porter's  room  empty.  He 


388  SAN  ROSARIO  EANCH. 

rang  at  the  door  of  the  apartment,  which  was 
opened,  after  some  delay,  by  a  weeping  woman. 
He  could  not  understand  what  she  said  to  him, 
and  made  his  way  to  the  boudoir  where  he  had 
last  seen  Millicent,  without  meeting  any  one. 
He  heard  voices  in  the  next  room,  which  he 
knew  to  be  her  sleeping  apartment. 

"  It  must  have  been  quite  painless,"  he  heard 
a  strange  voice  say  in  English.  "  See!  she  has 
not  moved  ;  the  clothes  are  quite  unruffled.  It 
is  doubtful  if  she  woke  at  all.  Sister  Theresa 
says  she  was  in  this  attitude  when  she  last  saw 
her.  If  she  had  even  breathed  heavily  the  nun 
would  have  heard  her,  she  sleeps  so  lightly." 

A  chill  fell  upon  the  young  man's  heart.  What 
could  those  strange  words  mean?  The  door 
opened  at  last,  and  two  men  entered  the  room, 
the  younger  carefully  closing  it  behind  him.  He 
was  evidently  a  physician.  The  elder  man  passed 
him  with  bowed  head  and  clasped  hands.  Gal- 
braith  touched  the  younger  man  on  the  arm,  and 
asked  him  what  his  words  had  meant.  The  doc 
tor  waited  till  the  father  had  left  the  room,  and, 
turning  to  the  stranger,  answered  him  gently  and 
compassionately ;  told  him  the  little  there  was  to 
tell  beyond  the  great  fact  that  Death  had  entered 
in  the  night  and  stolen  the  breath  of  the  fairest, 
while  she  slept. 

"  If  I  could  but  fall  quietly  asleep ! "  he  remem- 


SAN  ROSAR10  RANCH.  389 

bered  her  words  of  y ester  eve.  Her  prayer  had 
been  answered.  The  grim  visage  of  Death  had 
been  hidden  by  the  tender  veil  of  sleep. 

The  physician  was  very  patient  with  the 
stranger  who  asked  him  so  often  if  it  were  cer 
tain,  if  there  could  be  no  mistake  regarding 
the  dreadful  event.  At  last,  when  he  was  satis 
fied  that  there  was  no  hope,  he  turned  to  go, 
stumbling  over  a  chair  as  he  went.  The  doctor 
made  him  take  a  glass  of  wine,  and  bade  him 
rest  awhile  before  going  out.  Maurice  Galbraith 
was  a  strong  man,  and  after  the  first  faintness 
which  the  news  had  brought  him,  he  nerved  him 
self  to  meet  the  terrible  grief,  and  bear  it  as  a 
strong  man  should. 

"You  are  Mr.  Galbraith,  from  California,  of 
whom  she  spoke  last  night  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Perhaps  you  could  help  me  in  a  little  matter 
which  Mr.  Almsford  has  asked  me  to  attend  to. 
This  telegram  came  an  hour  ago.  It  was  directed 
to  her,  and  is  dated  California.  Do  you  know 
the  sender,  and  the  meaning  of  the  message  ?" 

Galbraith  took  the  slip  of  blue  paper,  and  read 
these  words :  — 

"  I  am  coming  to  you.     I  start  to-night. 

"  GRAHAM." 

"  You  know  the  person  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  well." 


390  SAN  BOSARIO  RANCH. 

"  As  we  have  not  his  address,  would  you  kindly 
answer  the  despatch  and  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Surely." 

"It  would  be  a  great  favor." 

"  It  is  the  last  but  one  that  I  can  ever  do  for 
her  now." 

He  found  his  way  to  the  telegraph  office,  he 
never  knew  how,  and  with  trembling  hand  penned 
this  message,  which  should  fly  swifter  than  west 
wind  or  shifting  water,  to  John  Graham  on  the 
far  golden  shore,  where  the  tide  was  at  the  flood, 
and  the  earth  glad  and  green  in  the  promise  of 
the  new-born  year :  — 

"  Millicent  died  last  night." 


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